


After All

by pissedoffeskimo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 12:50:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 132,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1551101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pissedoffeskimo/pseuds/pissedoffeskimo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dumbledore decides that he’s had enough of the Dursley’s abuse and brings Harry to Hogwarts at age eight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 2004.
> 
> For clarification: HP/DM is the main pairing, HP/LM is noncon, HP/SS is implied, but not explicit. I don't warn for everything, as I personally don't read something expecting to know everything that's going to happen, nor do I want to. Life is about surprises, for better or worse. Read at your own risk.

August 25th 1989

 

Professor Severus Snape had often had occasion to wish that he could kill the meddling old fool, Albus Dumbledore, and while this was just one such occasion, it was a rather exemplary one. The headmaster was standing outside the Potion Master’s dungeon chambers, one hand hanging at his side, the other resting casually on the shoulder of a very short little boy in too-large pajamas who looked as though he wanted nothing more than to hide in the large folds of the elderly man’s robes. It wasn’t the intimidated look on the child’s face that had caught Snape’s attention, however, but the bright green eyes behind thick, broken spectacles, the unruly black hair, and the pale lightening bolt shaped scar on the boy’s forehead. This was not just any child that Dumbledore was bringing to Snape’s door, this was Harry Potter.

Snape hadn’t waited for an explanation, he hadn’t needed one. There were only so many reasons that the headmaster knocked on your door at one in the morning and none of those were related to a social call. Dumbledore wanted a favor, and Snape had a fairly good idea as to what that favor was.

“Absolutely not.”

“Severus, you know I wouldn’t ask if there were anyone else.”

The boy shrank even further against the old man as Snape sneered down at him again before addressing Dumbledore, “What about Minerva?”

“She has been detained and will, regrettably, not be here until tomorrow morning, at which time she will relieve you of the child.”

Snape felt his eye twitch, “Flitwick.”

“Is with McGonagall.”

“Hagrid.”

“His cabin is hardly large enough for himself.”

“Trelawney.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled brightly, “Now, really, Severus, my boy, aren’t you being a bit ridiculous? It is, after all, only one night and Harry will be on his best behavior.”

The boy had been looking up at Dumbledore with large eyes the entire exchange, but now his gaze shifted to Snape. When he realized the man was staring back at him, his eyes widened and he nodded once before hiding behind Dumbledore’s robes entirely.

The old man sighed heavily and looked down at the now vacant spot beside him, “Come along, child, no one intends you harm here.” When the green eyes looked up at him again, he smiled, “Professor Snape merely does not appreciate being woken at this late hour.”

The boy bit his lip and looked at Snape again, staring wide eyed at the bedraggled man in his grey night shirt and lose fitting robe, “I’m sorry we woke you, Professor Snape.”

Snape sneered, not in the least fooled by the meek voiced facade. Little beast wasn’t sorry at all, he was simply behaving himself while Dumbledore was around. However, it did no good to express such opinions in front of the old fool, not when he was standing next to the boy, smiling and pleased at the polite manners.

With a heavy sigh that spoke more than words, Snape stepped aside and allowed Dumbledore to stride in, holding the child’s small hand in his own large one; long and wrinkled fingers wrapped around the boy’s smooth palm.

Dumbledore walked the boy over to the sofa by the fire, helped him up onto the large cushions, and ran his hands over the unruly hair, as though to tame it, “Harry, my dear sweet boy, tomorrow morning Professor McGonagall will be by to pick you up and she will watch you till I return.”

Harry nodded once, obediently, but not before casting a nervous glance over Dumbledore’s shoulder at Snape. Albus pet the child’s cheek one more time before standing up and heading towards the door. He stopped just inside and gave Snape a forlorn nod, lowering his voice, “I trust you, Severus, with his safety. Do not hold the sin of the father against his child.” Without another word, Dumbledore left, closing the door behind him and leaving the two alone in the room.

Snape turned on the child, taking in the little form sitting primly on his sofa. Harry Potter. Child of James Potter, who had been the bane of Snape’s existence throughout his school years, and well into his adulthood; the child that Snape owed a life debt to, because he had been unable to save the father’s miserable life.

The boy didn’t move, nor did he take his eyes off the man in front of him, seemingly afraid to lose eye contact. Potter. He looked very much like his father; thinner and smaller, perhaps, but otherwise the same. The boy’s left cheek, the one Dumbledore had caressed, was slightly darker than the other and his eyes were too bright and too prominent.

Stepping closer, Snape saw the slight wince in Potter’s eyes before he quickly hung his head. Snape walked over and stood in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest. The child didn’t move, didn’t even twiddle his hands like so many other annoying brats Snape had taught. “Look at me, Potter.”

The head snapped up, lips tight with fear. At closer glance a bruise was horribly vivid along the left side of the face, from the cheek bone up to the temple. It hadn’t taken on much color, but Snape could see the tint of bright yellow green in the center. “What happened?”

Potter opened his mouth, but closed it and took a deep breaths before answering, “Uncle Vernon punished me, professor.”

Snape scowled as he turned the thought over in his head. The boy’s uncle had hit him? He reached a hand out and lifted Potter’s chin up, tilting it to catch the bruise in the light.

Well, at least he was being disciplined.

He let go of the boy’s face and sat down at his desk to continue his research. Harry watched the man sit down and then turned back to the fire. He’d like to get closer to it, as it was very cold in the dungeons, but Professor Snape didn’t seem the sort to chance something like that with, so he sat quietly, instead.

It had been a very strange day all around. He had been woken by Aunt Petunia, as usual, made breakfast, as usual, spilt some orange juice, which he hadn’t done in some time, been hit by his uncle, which had never really happened before - it had always been an implied threat, though - and spent the rest of the afternoon in his cupboard, nursing his cheek without the aide of ice.

That night, when everyone had been asleep, he had heard a strange sound, and a funny sort of feeling had run through his veins. Shortly after that, the elderly man who had called himself Albus Dumbledore had let him out of the cupboard and told him to be very quite, that they didn’t want to wake his aunt and uncle.

They had disappeared, Harry still wasn’t really sure how, and appeared again in front of a large, dark castle, that lay under a sea of stars. He’d stared up a moment before looked up at the man with wide eyes. ‘Where are we Mr. Dumbledore?’

‘Professor, child,’ he had picked Harry up and pointed at the castle, ‘and that is Hogwarts, Harry, your new home.’

Harry had stared at it as they drew nearer. It felt familiar, like he was indeed coming home. Of course, now he was having second thoughts, now that Professor Snape had greeted him with such open hostility. He wondered if all the professors would hate him.

Snape put his quill down in frustration. Not a sound could be heard from the sofa save the child’s breathing and he was beginning to become annoyed by even that. “What are you doing, boy?”

Potter jumped slightly, “Nothing, Professor Snape.”

Snape scowled, “Stop it.”

“Yes, Professor Snape.”

Snape turned around, staring at the boy who stared back, not daring to blink, “How can you stop if you were doing nothing?”

“I… I’m not sure, Professor Snape.”

“Can you say more than three words at a time?”

“Yes, Professor Snape?”

Snape scowled and stood, causing the boy to watch him more fretfully. The wizard stood over the child, watching him stew in his own worry for nearly a minute before take a blanket off the arm of the sofa and tossing it on him. “You’ll sleep there.”

He turned to go to bed, scowling as he closed the door. A Potter was in his dungeons, sleeping on his couch, under his throw blanket.

Curse Dumbledore to Hades and back.

____________________

 

It had taken Snape almost half an hour to remember that Harry Potter was even there. He had woken up at seven, as he did every morning, he had taken a bath and done other various toiletries, he had even made himself a cup of coffee and was sitting down to drink it when something caught his attention from the corner of his eye.

Potter was already awake, sitting up on the couch, none of the pillows appeared to have been disturbed and the blanket had been folded and hung over the arm of the sofa, as it had been before Snape had given it to him. He hadn’t moved or spoken the entire time, his hand were folded in his lap and he was watching Snape with large, interested eyes.

Severus, who had been about to take his first sip of the coffee, realized how ridiculous he must look holding the cup up to his mouth without drinking. He just wasn’t sure exactly how he was going to remedy this. If he set it down, the boy might assume he was going to talk or something equally ridiculous, and if he went ahead and drank, he’d be doing so with an audience, something Severus was not prone to first thing in the morning.

Eventually, he set it down, deciding he’d just have to wait for Minerva to arrive to drink it. Harry didn’t speak, but he didn’t stop staring, either, he seemed to find Snape interesting or some other childish notion.

He tried, for several minutes, to read through the ingredients that he had isolated as essential from various other recorded researches. He was attempting to create a potion that would make a werewolf virtually harmless during transformation. His own experience with the creatures in no way lent him toward the task, but the money and prestige that such a discovery offered had been enough for him to agree to Albus’ request. However, it was somehow hard to concentrate on the task at hand when he could almost feel the bright green eyes boring into the back of his head.

Turning around, he glared at the small child, pleased to at least have eliciting a small gasp. “What is it?”

Harry put his head down and bit his lower lip, but said nothing until Snape stood and once again demanded, “You will explain why you can not seem to keep your eyes to yourself.”

After several moments the boy lifted his eyes without raising his head, “I… I need to use the bathroom, Professor Snape.”

“And I am supposed to assume you are incapable of completing such a simple task on your own?”

“No, Professor Snape.”

“Then stop wasting my time.”

Harry scooting off the couch, dropping nearly a foot before his feet hit the rug with an inaudible thud and he ran quickly to the door leading into the bathroom, shutting it noiselessly. Seconds later, he came scrambling out.

Snape’s eye twitched with annoyance as he watched the child run behind the arm of the sofa and duck down, staring at the half open door in abject fright. “What now?”

Harry shook his head, but said nothing. With an exasperated sigh, Snape walked over and dragged the boy to his feet by his arm. Harry bit his lip nervous, but stood still, “The… the toilet, professor, it… it flushed on its own. I didn’t do anything, I swear.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Snape allowed himself to stare at the confused boy with contempt for a few moments before letting go of the arm and walking back to his desk, offering no explanation.

Harry stood where he was left, staring at the back of the intimidating Professor now sitting back at his desk. He wasn’t entirely what he had done wrong this time, but he was sure he must have done something. Twisting his fingers together, he bit his lower lip.

He didn’t understand it at all. Professor Snape hadn’t seemed at all mad that the toilet had gone and flushed on its own, he was upset that Harry had bothered him. Of course, Uncle Vernon would have been upset had Harry interrupted him, but he would have been much more so at an oddly behaving toilet.

Professor Snape sighed heavily, set his quill down, and turned back to look at him again. Harry felt his eyes go wide and he stood very still. He didn’t think he liked Professor Snape very much, either.

“Are you capable of doing anything besides staring at me?”

Harry bit his lip a little harder, trying to decide which answer would be least likely to get him in more trouble than he apparently already was. “Yes, Professor Snape.”

“Then go about it, so that I may go about my research.”

Harry nodded, but then realized that Snape had turned away by then and could not see it. He climbed back onto the couch and folded his hands in his lap, staring at them in disinterest. He almost wished he were back in his cupboard, at least in his cupboard he had tin soldiers; the paint was faded, and some of them were missing arms or weapons, but he could at least pretend.

His stomach gave a loud upset sound and he flushed slightly. He’d forgotten that he hadn’t had anything to eat yesterday and he was dead hungry now, but there was no way he was going to ask Professor Snape for anything to eat.

Another, slightly louder grumble and he looked up into the twitching face of the Professor. “I’m sorry.”

Snape scowled before turning back to his work, “I very much doubt that.”

Harry was just thinking that he’d like to take a nap (he’d not slept well at all the night before, the room was too big and unfamiliar), when a firm knock echoed from the door throughout the room, making him jump slightly at the sudden noise.

Snape mumbled something under his breath as he passed Harry, something that sounded suspiciously like ‘finally,’ and continued to mumble until he’d opened the door. As soon as it was open a woman stormed in and across the room, swooping down on Harry with such eagerness that he honestly thought about getting up and making a run for it.

As she ran her hands through his tousled hair, he studied her very carefully. She was older, but not as old as the man who had taken him from the Dursleys’ the night before, her thin, set lips made her look firm, but her eyes were alight with concern behind her spectacles. She gently ran her hand over his cheek. He wondered why everyone kept doing that, no one at school had ever taken notice to the bruises Dudley gave him.

After a few moments, she smiled softly, though he got the impression the she didn’t do it very often, it seemed stiff and unnatural, but not unkind. “Where are your things, Harry?”

He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. She seemed to like him very much without him having opened his mouth. Snape spoke from the doorway, “He didn’t come with any.”

Although Harry very much resented being spoken of like he were purchased goods, he found himself forcing back a smile as the elder woman gave a sour look before turning towards Harry again. “I am Professor McGonagall and I’ll be watching over you for the time being.”

Harry nodded, but still refused to say anything, especially with Professor Snape still standing at his door, looking thoroughly annoyed. McGonagall pulled at the end of his baggy sleeve, pushing it up so that she could see his hand. “I suppose we’ll have to do something about your clothes, but it’s early, yet. Are you hungry?”

Harry, who was having trouble holding back a blush at the realization that he was still wearing the long sleeved shirt and sweat pants that he served as his night clothes, nodded minutely, and went back to toying with the torn hem of his shirt. He would have lied, not wanting to be a bother, but his stomach was complaining audibly and there was no masking it.

Snape scowled, sighing dramatically, “I am touched, really, but if you don’t mind, I have work to do and I can hardly manage with you and that boy here.”

McGonagall stood up and turned around, looking as though she had something she wanted to say, but held back and instead took Harry’s hand and pulled him off the sofa, leading him towards the door.

Harry looked back at Snape one last time before the door was loudly closed behind them. He didn’t think Professor Snape liked him very much, but, then, he supposed that was okay, because he didn’t like Professor Snape very much either.


	2. Summer 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted in 2004.

July 1, 1990

“But, he doesn’t like me!” Harry tried to pull away from Minerva, who held onto his hand more firmly.

Minerva sighed deeply and continued to trudge towards the dungeon, “Severus doesn’t like anyone, Harry.”

He gave up trying to make a break for it and pouted instead, “Then why do I have to stay with him? Why can’t I go with you?”

Minerva stopped and turned around, kneeling in front of the boy. During the school year she and the other teachers had taken care of him. They had attempted to keep it a secret at first, but when he’d realized that he wasn’t going to be starved or locked up for breaking rules, he had begun doing so frequently, so it had become widely spread knowledge that Harry Potter was a resident of Hogwarts.

That in itself would not have been such a great tragedy, for the most part the student body was as quick to dote on the short nine year old as the faculty, however, the Weasley twins had started their first year and they saw it as an opportunity to ‘corrupt the innocent.’ Despite the best efforts of the staff, Harry now knew as many secret passages as any of the professors and probably more. He also knew where the kitchens were located, which had led to more stomach troubles than Minerva cared to account for. It had become a full time task keeping track of the little fiend.

The transformation from shy, unsure, and practically mute, to outgoing, rambunctious, and occasionally talkative had taken surprisingly little time and had nearly as many negative repercussions as it did positive; not that she didn’t adore him now that he spoke his mind freely and did what he liked when he liked it, but it was tiresome and she and the rest of the staff were looking forward to nearly two months of holidays. So, while they were gone, it had been arranged by Dumbledore (and only Merlin knew how) that Snape would watch over him. An extra room had been made adjacent to Snape’s quarters in the dungeons and it was even arranged for Snape’s nephew, Draco Malfoy, to come spend two weeks at the school as well. Dumbledore had thought it would be ‘splendid’ for Harry to interact with a child his own age and somehow (again, only Merlin knew how) convinced Lucius Malfoy and Severus both to agree to it.

Of course, the young Malfoy would not be arriving for a month and a half, and Harry was not very eager to be left alone for six weeks with a man the whole school kept referring to as ‘The Greasy Git.’

She sighed at the boy’s pouting lip. He was getting too good at that, if he wasn’t careful he’d be sorted into Slytherin. “Hogwarts is the safest place for you, Harry.”

He looked down, shoulders slumped, “Then why can’t you stay here?”

“I have to go home and see my family, Harry, I miss them.” She brushed a few errant hairs behind his ear and ignored them when they popped back out, “It won’t be so bad. It’s only two months, that’s eight weeks, and you’ll have company for two of them. Besides, Harry, Professor Dumbledore and Hagrid will be here most of the time and you can visit them whenever you like.”

“Why can’t I stay with one of them?”

Minerva stood up and took Harry’s hand again, “We’ve been through this. There’s no telling when Dumbledore may be called away, and Hagrid is too busy tending the forest and animals; it’s safer for you to be somewhere where there will be someone to watch you at all times. Come along.”

He didn’t argue anymore, just walked a step or two behind, as though to remind her that he was being forced. He gave her one last pleading look when they stopped at Snape’s door, but she forced herself not to give in. It would have been so much more pleasant to see him smile before she left.

When the door opened, Minerva was not in the least pleased to see that Severus looked about as pleased as Harry with the arrangements. His sneer was deeper than normal, and his posture was just short of looking sulky. Minerva knelt down and Harry threw his arms around her neck, hugging her tightly. “I’ll miss you, Professor.”

She smiled into his hair, “And I’ll miss you, Harry. Now get settled in and I’ll be back before you know it.”

He looked up at Snape as she walked away. His summer was going to be miserable. Of course, that was assuming he made it out alive; Snape already looked as though he wanted to strangle Harry. “Are you going to stand there all evening, or do you to intend actually come in?”

Harry fought the urge to say that he would rather just stand there, but decided against it as Snape stepped aside to allow him passing room. He didn’t want to tempt fate this early in his two month ‘sentence’. He had spent the entire year avoiding Snape. He’d sat as far from him as possible during breakfast, lunch, and dinner; he’d run entire circles around the school to avoid the dungeons; he’d even volunteered to help Professor Trelawney categorize her new inventory of herbs rather than be babysat by the potion’s master.

Snape’s living room hadn’t changed at all; the sofa pillow and blanket were still rumpled in the exact same way they had been the day Professor McGonagall had picked him up. The only difference Harry could find was that the wall to the right, which had been blank save for the fireplace, now had a door on it as well. Snape didn’t tell Harry that this was his room. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all before going back to his desk and sitting down.

Harry waited in silence for nearly a full minute before Snape finally looked up, obviously irritated. “I don’t suppose you brought something to amuse yourself with?” Harry nodded slowly, not sure exactly what Snape was referring to, but thinking that any other answer would have been unacceptable.

“Then go to your room and do it. I don’t expect to see you until supper.”

He nodded, “Yes, Professor,” and went into the room without waiting for further instructions.

It was larger than his other bedroom, which was connected to McGonagall’s, but it was also more barren. The walls were dark grey and there were no windows, just a light hanging on the ceiling, a lamp on either side of his bed, and one on his desk. Even the quidditch poster Madame Hooch had given him for Christmas looked incredibly small on the large expanse of wall across from his bed.

He checked in the wardrobe and found that the elves had already moved everything into it, all hanging or nicely folded. His desk, too, was neatly filled with the quills and pencils and parchment that he amused himself with when he was bored, and the books he had checked out from the library to read over the holidays were squared away on one corner.

Sitting on the large bed, he was surprised to find it fairly springy, though not necessarily soft. He lay down, crossing his arms over his head, and stared at the ceiling. It was going to be a very long summer.

____________________

 

Harry woke the next morning feeling more tired than when he had fell asleep, which seemed strange as he had actually been in bed for several hours more than usual. He opened his eyes thinking of telling Professor McGonagall about the really strange dream he’d had that night about a flying motorcycle (he hadn’t had that one since he’d come to Hogwarts), but his unfamiliar surrounding quickly reminded him that he wasn’t in his room in Gryffindor tower and McGonagall wasn’t there to talk to.

He had to deal with Snape.

The floor under his feet was colder than it was in the tower, as there were no windows to warm up the stone in the early morning light. He hurried over to his wardrobe and dug around for socks first, then his pants and a shirt. Harry looked out into the room for Snape and spotted him sitting at his desk in the living room, scratching notes on something.

Biting his lower lip, Harry looked around for a table, but couldn’t see one. He was about to say something when Snape suddenly spoke, “Breakfast was over an hour ago. I suggest that in the future you attempt to wake up before noon.”

Harry scowled at the dismissive tone. Snape hadn’t even bothered to look at him, but he said nothing as he closed the door quietly behind him.  
“Did you make your bed?”

Harry frowned, “The house elves...”

“That’s no reason to be lazy, Potter. Go and make your bed.”

With a huff, Harry went back into his room, nearly slamming the door in his annoyance. What did it matter if he made the bed? The house elves were just going to come and remake it after him, they always did. And why did Snape have to be so… so mean this early in the morning? It wasn’t even tea time, yet and the man was already in a foul temper.

After making sure the corners were tucked in, he flattened the wrinkles and sat in the desk chair, trying to decide what he should do. He desperately wanted to go see Hagrid or Professor Dumbledore, but didn’t want to be a bother. Perhaps he could simply explore the castle, or try and break into the broom shed by the field. He envied the players flying high above the stands and wished very much that he could try, but McGonagall had said he was too young and that he would have to wait till his first year.

Broom shed it was. Swinging his legs over the side, he opened the door and made a beeline across the living room. The last thing he wanted was for Snape to tell him he couldn’t go out. He’d absolutely die of boredom if he couldn’t go out. Either that or Snape would get annoyed with him and kill him.  
“Potter.”

Harry stopped with his hand on the knob. “Yes, Professor?”

“Are there clothes on the floor?” For a moment, Harry looked around the living room in confusion. “In your bedroom, Potter. Did you leave the clothes on the floor? I will not tolerate disorder.”

Harry didn’t bother say that the house elves would pick them up, whether they were on the floor or not. He simply walked back into his room, picked up his dirty pants and shirt and set them on top of his made bed. He gave the room one last inspection, pushing his desk chair in and squaring the papers for good measure, before he came out again. “Is there anything else, Professor?”

“Have you bathed?” Oh for the love of… “Despite what you may think, tidiness does extend to personal hygiene. For future reference you should bathe, brush your teeth, and put on fresh clothing every morning. You are to make your bed and keep your floor clean. Are we clear?”

He still hadn’t looked up. That, more anything, aggravated Harry. The man wouldn’t even acknowledge him and he was still giving him a lecture!

Swallowing his anger, Harry nodded, “Yes, Professor.”

“Good. You’re dismissed.”

Dismissed?! This wasn’t a class, he wasn’t a student, Snape had no right to ‘dismiss’ him! Harry clenched his teeth before going into his room, taking a book from his desk and throwing himself on the living room couch to read. He saw Snape look at him from the corner of his eye, so he stretched out, putting his feet on the sofa and kicking a few pillows onto the floor.

If Snape insisted on treating him like an annoying child, he decided, he’d do his best to behave like one.

____________________

 

August 14, 1990 

 

Six weeks later, Harry was beginning to think his summer wasn’t going to be all that bad after all. When he wasn’t busy annoying Snape, he was with Hagrid outside or in the Headmaster’s office playing with Fawlkes and, sometimes when he was really bored, he’d hide in the kitchen and watch the elves. It wasn’t the most eventful summer he’d ever had, but it was, by far, the best. He wasn’t in a cupboard, he could get food whenever he wanted, and he didn’t have to spend all his time with people who hated him for existing, and he had gotten birthday presents, even if most of them were educational gifts from the staff (all except Hagrid, who had given Harry a pair of heavy boots he could use to tromp around the grounds when it was muddy).

It wasn’t until a few days before Draco Malfoy was scheduled to arrive that things took a turn for the worse. Hagrid left to get the supplies that he’d need during the year, as well as some other things that he wouldn’t tell Harry about; then Dumbledore was called away on business and supposed that he wouldn’t get back till right before school started. Not only that, but Harry had been told that in the headmaster’s absence he was to stay within the school walls. No going off to play with Fang or trying to sneak into the Forbidden Forest. He had resolved, however, that he would find something to do and it wouldn’t involve staying in the dungeons.

The first day alone had been somewhat boring, the second almost intolerable, and by the third, he found himself playing hopscotch in the second floor corridor, something he never, in a million years, would have imagined himself doing.

But there he was, skipping across a chalk outline that extended the entire length of the corridor and had been drawn on the floor by the house elves, who had probably made it that long to get Harry out of kitchens for more than ten minutes at a time so that they could get their work done.

He had made it halfway across twice, but kept getting distracted and stepping on a line, which had been magicked to give him a small shock. On his third crossing he could actually see the end of the squares when something connected firmly with the back of his leg and sent him tumbling to the ground.

Harry felt his knee scrape against the stone and held in a cry of pain. Sitting back, he pulled his legs up to get a good look at them; the trousers were shredded but his knees weren’t too bad, the left one was bleeding a little though, and he would probably have to put something on it. He rubbed it, wincing as he wondered if Snape’s salves would sting as much as Pomphrey’s did.

A derisive laugh sounded behind him, “That was brilliant,” behind Harry stood another boy whom he had never seen before.

Stumbling to his feet, Harry looked over the person he could only assume was Draco Malfoy by the decorative ‘M’ stitched into the front of his silky black robe. Malfoy was taller than Harry by nearly a foot, he had white blond hair that was gelled back, sharp features, and grey eyes that Harry could only describe as... mischievous.

Harry tested his left leg, which felt a bit shaky, while Malfoy continued to chuckle to himself and held out his hand. “I am Draco Malfoy. You’re Potter.”  
He didn’t think he liked Malfoy very much, so he didn’t bother to take the proffered hand, “Yes.”

Malfoy dropped the hand, looking perturbed. “My father says you’re a mudblood.” When Harry didn’t react, he crossed him arms over his chest. “Well, are you?”

Harry shrugged, “What’s a mudblood?”

“It means your parents are muggles.”

He didn’t like the way Draco had said ‘muggle’, and he most certainly didn’t think ‘mudblood’ sounded any better, “My father was a wizard, but my mother came from a muggle family, if that’s what you mean.”

Draco shrugged disinterestedly, “Halfblood then, not much better.” He heaved a heavy sigh and crossed his arms over his chest, looking as though he were imitating the potions master. “Snape sent me to tell you dinner was ready.”

Still frowning, Harry brushed past the other boy and began walking down the hall towards the stairs that would take him to the dungeon. He ignored the indignant little noise that Draco made and the hurried footsteps trying to keep up with him.

Of all the possible scenarios that Harry had come up with regarding Malfoy, he had never imagined that he would be such a... such a prat. Harry hadn’t particularly thought they would get along, he’d been terribly afraid that he’d make a fool of himself, that he’d freeze up or say something stupid as he often did around people who’d lived their entire lives in the wizarding world, but he hadn’t once thought that maybe Malfoy would be so...

He couldn’t even think of a proper word to describe him.

Draco pushed past him just as they reached Snape’s door and smirked at him before opening the door and marching in, shoulders back like a soldier on duty. “I brought him back; he was playing some stupid muggle game on the second floor.”

Snape looked up from his desk and took in the scuff marks on Harry’s knees with obvious disapproval, “You will tell me where you’re going next time.”

Harry fought back a rebellious huff and sat down at the table the house elves had left. Snape didn’t like having a table clutter his already cramped living space, so instead, he had the house elves bring one down for dinner and take it back with them before he woke the next morning. Harry didn’t see the point, but also didn’t want to aggravate Snape by asking too many questions.

Dinner consisted of codfish, chips or mashed potatoes, and green beans. Harry liked chips, especially with ketchup, as he hadn’t gotten to eat them very often at the Dursleys', but Snape despised the mere idea of finger food; he literally shuddered when Harry ate fish sticks or chicken nuggets, and pizza left the professor looking utterly repulsed. Of course, it went without saying that having seen how much these forms of food disturbed his guardian, Harry asked for them as often as possible.

The only positive thing that Harry had to say about Professor Snape was that, unlike McGonagall, he did not make Harry say thanks when they ate in private; he did, however, make Harry wait until they had both seated, which could sometimes take up to ten minutes.

Harry was horrified to find that Draco was as meticulous an eater as Snape. He cut his food into small, easily chewed pieces, didn’t ask for salt or pepper, he kept his elbows off the table, his back straight, and both feet firmly on the floor. It was very disconcerting for Harry, who felt suddenly uncomfortable with his legs crossed in his chair and ketchup all over his plate.

He ate sporadically, shoving little pieces of food into his mouth every so often until the others were finished and he was free to push his plate away. It was another one of the very few good things Harry had to say about Snape, he did not insist that Harry finish every bite on his plate, in fact, he couldn’t care less whether Harry ate anything at all.

Standing up, Harry put his utensils on his plate and folding his napkin into a neat square. While Snape could do nothing about Harry’s abysmal taste in food, he could ground Harry when he didn’t follow the rules, and orderliness was the strictest rule.

“Where do you think you are going?”

“To my room, Professor.”

Harry started to turn, but Snape’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “Draco is our guest. You are not to go to bed until he does.”

“Well, then, may I at least be excused?”

“You may.”

Harry narrowed his green eyes, but said nothing else. Instead, he sat down on the sofa and stared into the fire until he heard the sounds of dinner being finished. Draco sat down in one of the chairs opposite the sofa and stared back at Harry until the smaller boy sighed heavily and looked over, “What?”

“You’re bored.”

Harry fought not to roll his eyes and instead turned back towards the fire. “Of course I’m bored. All my things are in my room.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, “Care for a game of chess? I doubt you’re any good at it, and besides, father taught me. I play against him once a week at the least.”

Despite his reservations Harry agreed. It wasn’t as though he had anything better to do. Snape sat at his desk, back to them as Draco set the board up. Harry hadn’t played much, in fact, for the most part he’d watched others play it and kept himself interested in the battles between pieces.

Not that he got to play much this time either. In the entire hour they sat in Snape’s drawing room he moved his pieces six times. The rest of the hour was spent listening to Draco talk about his father and his manor and his house elves and all manner of things while he pretended to be thinking about where to move his pieces.

“My father bought me my own owl, but I didn’t bring it with me because father’s away on business and by the time the owl reached him I’d probably be home anyway. Besides, mother said she’d break it in for me. She’s always sending letters to her friends; sometimes she has six owls at a time out, which is why father bought me one of my own. That and I asked for one.”

“He also bought me a broom, but I wasn’t allowed to bring it with me either. Snape says you aren’t allowed to have one yet, so it wouldn’t be proper if I brought mine. Have you ever even ridden a broom? It’s fabulous, really, there’s nothing like it.”

“I brought games and such, because father said you weren’t likely to have much because you had lived with Muggles who hated you and that Professor McGonagall didn’t believe in frivolities; that the only thing she ever bought you were books and not many of those either, because Hogwarts has an extensive library. Is that true?”

Harry’s eye twitched, he was getting very tired of listening to Draco’s voice and he hoped that Draco would very soon get tired of talking. “Is what true; that Hogwarts has an extensive library?”

Draco scoffed, “Of course not, I’ve no doubt of the extent of the Hogwarts Library. Not that it’s the largest by any means, the study at Malfoy Manor has a collection twice as large, I’m sure.” Harry noticed Draco shifting his eyes back towards Snape, as though expecting him to say something, but Snape didn’t turn around. “I meant is it true that you lived with Muggles that hated you? That you have next to nothing to do here?”

Harry looked down at the board, wishing Draco would get on with it. “Yes.”

Draco shrugged and reached down, moving his knight carelessly. “It’s a good thing I brought so much then. I thought perhaps I was over preparing, but I suppose not. I’d likely have died of boredom otherwise. Can’t imagine how you’ve survived so long.” Draco chuckled under his breath. “No wonder you’ve resorted to playing hopscotch.”

Harry tensed, ready to attack regardless of the fact that Snape was sitting just a few feet away from him; unfortunately, it seemed Snape realised his intentions just in time, “Draco, that’s enough. It’s time for bed.”

Draco shrugged and began picking up the pieces, ignoring their disgruntled thrashings at having been stopped mid-game. Harry had stood up to go to his room when Snape stopped him, “Draco will be sharing your room.”

For a moment everything was very quiet, even Draco stopped long enough to look perturbed at the idea. It was Harry, however, who took a deep breath and stood straighter. “No.”

Snape turned from his paperwork to stare dead on at Harry, who almost flinched at the glare being sent his way. “You will do as I say. I will not have children sleeping on my couch and impeding my morning routine.”

“No.” Harry took a steadying breath, “I will not share a room with that stuck up little sod.”

Draco’s mouth fell open, trying to find words to express his rage. He had never been called anything so... so rude. Snape, however, seemed to have no trouble figuring out what to say. He stood from his chair and walked over to Harry, who backed up only a step before standing his ground and glaring back up at the Professor.

“You will not use that kind of language in my presence, nor directed towards a guest.”

“It’s true!”

Snape took another step forward, so that he was practically standing on the small boy’s toes. “You will never repeat it again.”

Harry doubled his glare efforts, hoping that it was even half as intimidating as he intended. “He’s a stuck. Up. Little.” Snape was so angry that he stopped breathing and Harry had force himself to continue, “Sod.”

Harry had just enough time to realise that perhaps he shouldn’t have done that before the back of Snape’s hand connected with the side of his face.

 

____________________

 

‘He hit me.’

Harry really couldn’t get past that thought. He wanted to move, or talk back, or do something, but the only thing that he could do was stand there looking at the wall thinking ‘he hit me.’ And for some reason it had hurt more than when Uncle Vernon had done it. Uncle Vernon had hit him so hard he’d been knocked off his feet, this had simply snapped his head to one side and somehow it hurt more. How could it hurt more?

He felt Snape grab his arm and drag him into his room, but he didn’t protest. He couldn’t.

‘He hit me.’

Harry thought that perhaps he would feel better if he could cry, but he couldn’t do that either. Though he did admit he was closer to it now than he had been a year ago in his cupboard.

Maybe it was that he expected it from the Dursleys. He expected the abuse, it was always a threat and in a way when Uncle Vernon had hit him it had been a relief. It was like he had been staring at an angry bull waiting for it to charge and it finally had. The expectation had been worse than the event. Or maybe it was something else. He really didn’t know why, and in the end, he didn’t think he wanted to.

The door to his room closed and he looked up. He hadn’t even realized he’d sat down on the bed until that moment. Draco had come in. So they were still supposed to sleep in the same room. Fine, he couldn’t care less.

‘He hit me.’

Draco pretended not to notice Harry sitting on the edge of the bed as he went to the wardrobe and took out his night clothes. He wasn’t sure what the big deal was, but the other boy looked like he was in some kind of shock. Stupid Potter. If anyone was spoiled it was Harry Potter, doted on by the staff and students. So what if he didn’t get a lot of toys? He had the run of Hogwarts year round.

He went back to the side of the bed closest to the door and began changing, staring at the back of Potter’s head in contempt. It wasn’t like Uncle Severus had hit him so hard. Draco’s own father had used the cane on him for much less. Sitting up on the bed, he pulled the covers over himself and turned the light next to his bed off.

When Harry didn’t move to turn his own off, Draco sat up with a sigh, “I’m trying to sleep, or are you going to sit there and pout all evening?”

Draco was taken slightly aback at the ferocity behind Harry’s eyes when he turned to look at him. “I’m not pouting, I’m thinking.”

Draco huffed and threw himself down on his pillow, half to avoid having to match the gaze any longer. “Whatever, Potter. Either turn off the light or do it somewhere else.”

He heard Potter hop off the bed, his bare feet plopping against the thin carpet that surrounded the bed. A moment later the bed shifted and the light turned off. Draco closed his eyes and pretended to sleep while he listening to unsteady breathing of the boy next to him.

Stupid spoiled Potter.

 

____________________

 

Harry tried very hard to pretend nothing had happened the next morning. He got up, grabbed his clothes for the morning and had a shower, ignoring Snape who was sitting at his desk. He sat on the sofa, deciding that Snape would probably stop him if he tried to leave. The bed was still unmade and Draco was fast asleep.

There was no little amount of resentment for this. Had Harry still been asleep at ten in the morning Snape would be pounding on his door, demanding that he get up and that laziness would not be tolerated. He’d done this several times during the first week Harry had been there until he instinctively woke up before ten as a sort of self-defense.

Draco didn’t wander out of the room until nearly noon and when he did Harry immediately went into the bedroom and scooped his clothes off the floor, folding them and laying them on the trunk at the end of his bed for the house elves to pick up later.

The bed was still unmade and he considered for a moment telling Draco that since he had been the last one up, he should be the one to make it. Something in Harry knew that Snape would not be happy about that, so he made the bed in silence before heading back into the living room.

The house elves had already brought brunch out and Draco was sitting in a chair, waiting patiently for Snape to come sit down. Harry sat as well and Snape looked over at them in disinterest, “I ate breakfast this morning.”

Draco quickly picked up a small sandwich from the center of the plate and began eating in slow, small bites. Harry picked his up and started to shove the whole thing in his mouth, as he usually did in his efforts to annoy Snape, but when he moved his jaw he felt a dull throb and the memory of the evenings abuse seemed ever present. Carefully he bit it in half, eating only what he could fit in his mouth. It was nowhere near as dignified as the aristocratic blonde sitting across from him, but then he didn’t think he could ever be that restrained.

When they’d finished nearly half the sandwiches, Harry stood up and headed towards the exit.

“Wash your hands.”

Harry wanted desperately to yell something at Snape, to snap at him and run off before the man could do anything, but unfortunately he couldn’t think of anything to say, so he went to the bathroom, washed his hands, and ran out the door before the Professor could call him on anything else.

The elves were busy in the kitchen and neither Hagrid, nor Professor Dumbledore appeared to have returned yet. Not that he expected they would be, but he’d hoped. When he got bored with wandering aimlessly around the castle he decided he’d best return to Snape’s quarters. He didn’t want to be accused of being rude, after all.

He was halfway there when he ran into Draco. The other boy slit his grey eyes suspiciously. “Where have you been?”

Harry shrugged, but made no effort to try and get past. “None of your business.”

“Snape sent me looking for. He says you’re to apologize and that you have to show me around the castle as I don’t know where anything is.”

“I’m not going to apologize.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed further before he turned around and started to walk towards the dungeon. Harry reached out and caught his arm. “Where are you going?

“To tell him that I found you and that you refused to do as he said.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat and he tightened his grip on Draco’s arm instinctively. He didn’t want to apologize, but he was now faced with a very daunting prospect – it was face an angry Professor Snape or swallow his pride and apologize. “I... I‘m sorry.”

Draco shrugged off Harry’s hand and turned to face him. “Now you have to show me around the castle.”

Stuck up little... “What do you want to see? There isn’t much to it really, not during the summer. During the school year it’s packed with people and there’s always something to see, but right now,” he waved his hand at the deserted hall around them, “it’s as empty as a tomb.”

“What do you do all day?”

Harry thought for a moment, “Well, I go to the kitchens and watch the house elves, or I go visit Professor Dumbledore or Hagrid, but they aren’t here. I just wander the halls and wait for something interesting to pop out at me. If you wonder around long enough you’re bound to find something. There’s a portrait of a knight that insults you every time you walk past. He followed me through the castle for half an hour one time, falling off his horse and tripping over his own armor calling me a cowardly cur for not staying to fight. You know, I don’t think he knows he’s a portrait.”

Draco head tilted to the side as Harry talked, trying to imagine what was so interesting about a clumsy knight that insulted everyone, but couldn’t quite wrap his head around the idea. “You’re peculiar.”

“I’m what?”

“If any of the portraits at home were to go around insulted everyone they met, father would have them burned. You talk about it like its some game.”

Harry knitted his brows together, “Well, I don’t think he means anything by it.”

“Show me.”

He nearly told him to sod off, but decided that it probably wasn’t the wisest decision he could make, so instead he started off towards the stairs in the general direction he thought Sir Cadogan’s portrait was. Up one set of stairs, down a hall, up another, and then, “Halt, you cur!”

Although Harry was fairly sure he was well and lost, at least he had managed to find the portrait. Draco was standing in front of Sir Cadogan, staring at the little night curiously. “This is him, then?”

“Who art thou?” When Draco said nothing, Sir Cadogan brandished his sword awkwardly. “Scurvy nave, speak or I shall run thee through.”

Draco stepped back for a moment and a strange little laugh escaped from between his closed lips. Before he could stop himself, Draco started laughing. “Run me through? You’re a portrait, how exactly are you going to run me through?”

“You doubt Sir Cadogan? Have at thee!” Cadogan tripped over his feet and fell on his face, armor clinking heavily.

Draco looked at Harry, his eyes shiny with tears of laughter. “You were right, Potter, he is amusing.”

They spent the better part of two hours in the hall with Draco talking to Sir Cadogan, occasionally walking around to see if he would indeed be followed. Draco finally seemed to get bored and wanted to go and do something else. He suggested playing a game that he had brought with him and since Harry couldn’t think of anything better to do, and since he had to entertain the guest, he agreed and they went back to Snape’s quarters.

The game turned out to be something called Exploding Snap, which Harry found interesting and fun and wished he had someone else to play with besides Draco. They ate dinner late as Snape had been busy in his lab and forgotten the time, and they ate in silence. Harry once again found himself almost envious of the rich food that Draco ate with the Professor, but refused to say anything. He insisted to himself that the disgruntled look on Snape’s face when he dipped a corner of his hamburger in catsup was far more satisfying than chicken covered in a dark cream sauce; he just wished it didn’t smell quite so good.

He didn’t say anything about Draco sleeping in his room, and he didn’t complain when they spent an hour playing chess before they were dismissed for bed. He did, however, lay awake in bed for a long time.

 

____________________

 

“Potter.” Draco elbowed the shifting boy beside him. For the past hour Harry had been twisting and turning and mumbling to himself. He had already stolen the quilt and Draco would be damned if he were going to be knocked out of the bed as well.

Harry kicked out and caught Draco in the shin. “Potter!”

He sat up, expecting some kind of response, but instead he was very surprised to see that Harry was still asleep. His lips were moving and a fine sheen of sweat covered his brow. Draco leaned in to put his ear to Harry’s mouth, curious as to what the other boy was saying. He was sure he heard “uncle” right before the back of Harry’s hand connected with his temple.

Stumbling off the bed, Draco pressed his hand to his throbbing temple. “Potter!” He shouted as loudly as he could and Harry sat up in the bed with a yelp.

Draco opened to mouth to tell him off, but something in Harry’s eyes made him stop. He’d never seen someone look that terrified, his eyes were near falling out of his head, he was breathing in short gasps, and his entire body was shaking.

There was a short pause, in which Harry’s breathing became deep and drawn and he seemed to be calming down somewhat, before a loud knock on the door sent Harry tumbling off his side of the bed and out of Draco’s site.

“What is going on in there?!”

 

____________________

 

Harry had been dreaming, he knew that now. He had not, however, known that when he was awoken to someone yelling “Potter” in a way that distinctly reminded him of his uncle. As he shot up in his bed he had honestly thought that he was back at the Dursleys and that he had, once again, woken his uncle who would be coming any moment to make him regret it.

When the door didn’t immediately slam open, he felt his heart slowly calm, just enough for him to realize that he was not lying in his cupboard, but on a large, soft bed and that he wasn’t back at Number 4 Privet Drive, but Hogwarts, a place where Uncle Vernon could not get to him. He was just beginning to calm down when a sudden, thundering knock shocked him into falling off the bed and onto the floor below.

Out of instinct, Harry curled his knees up against his chest and wrapped his arms protectively around them when he heard Snape bellowing from the other side of the door.

“What is going on in there?!”

There was only a scarce moment of silence before he heard Draco answer, “It’s nothing. Potter had a nightmare, but he’s awake now.”

“He had better be.”

Snape opened the door and Harry curled further in on himself, waiting for the bomb to drop. Instead, he was very surprised when Snape knelt down and put a hand on his forehead. He gave a contemplative, “hm,” before standing Harry up and setting him on the bed.

Draco watched curiously, but said nothing. After Snape was satisfied that Harry was so tightly tucked in that he couldn’t move, he crossed his arms over his chest and sneered. “You appear to be running a mild fever and I do not wish to call Madame Pomfrey back from her holiday simply because you could not keep yourself in good health. You will be staying in bed tomorrow. Do I make myself clear?”

When Harry nodded mutely, Snape walked over to Draco and put a hand on his shoulder. “You will be sleeping in my room tonight. I don’t want you to catch anything.”

Draco silently added ‘or my father will skin you alive,’ as he followed Snape out the door.

 

____________________

 

Harry woke the next morning feeling very refreshed and restless. He wanted to get up and out of the dungeons as quickly as possible, but remembered what Snape had told him. The only problem with that was he had to go the bathroom and the only one in the entire suite was across the living room.

After a few minutes of contemplation, Harry came to the conclusion that Snape couldn’t get mad at him for getting out of bed to go to the bathroom, but he would probably get very mad if Harry wet himself, which he was likely to do if he didn’t get up soon. He got up and slipped on the little slippers Professor McGonagall had bought for him when she caught him sneaking around barefoot at night.

He stopped at the door and heard Snape telling Draco something, but couldn’t make out the words. Harry couldn’t quite explain why he was so nervous at the thought of Snape. His chest kept tightening up and he felt the urge to bite his lip like he did when he lived at the Dursleys. He really, really wished there was a bathroom attached to his room. Slowly, he opened the door and tiptoed out, trying his best to act normal and be quiet at the same time. He didn’t get two steps.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

Harry stopped and turned to face Snape, clasping his hands nervously behind his back so that he could fidget without being seen. “I have to go to the bathroom, Professor.”

“Then go.”

He wanted to say that was what he had been doing, and he wanted to say it in the same snappy tone that Snape insisted on using with him, but instead, he shuffled quickly across the room and locked the door behind him.

When he came out again, Draco was badgering Snape about something. He was clasping his hands together and, far from saying please, was simply trying to convince him. “Come on, it won’t be that bad.”

“No.”

“He doesn’t look poorly, anymore.”

Oh, so that was it. Draco didn’t want to spend the day alone. “It doesn’t matter if he looks poorly now, he was poorly last night and you don’t need to be exposed to it.”

“We’ll only go out for a bit.”

“Draco!”

“Severus!”

There was a thirty second pause before Snape sighed. “Fine, but be back in an hour for lunch.”

Harry could hardly believe it. If he had tried that he would have been locked in his room until after school started. Draco, however, seemed to find getting his way perfectly normal. He sat up and said, “yes, sir,” and dragged Harry into the bedroom without so much as a thank you.

“Well, go on, get dressed. We’ve only an hour.”

Despite the abundance of energy he’d had a short while ago, Harry very much wanted to say that he was too tired to do anything, just to spite the bratty blonde, but getting out of the dungeons was too tempting. He pulled on a pair of slacks and one of his older looking shirts.

When the Weasley twins had decided to corrupt young Mr. Potter, Professor McGonagall had fought them with everything she had. She fought for two months to keep Harry from wandering off with them, but in the end it didn’t matter how hard she tried, they always found a way to convince him that it was alright. It also didn’t matter where they took him; he always ended up ruining his clothes. So she had bought him a cheap shirt and designated one of his already ruined pairs of slacks as the clothes he was to wear when going off with anyone other than faculty.

Although the rules didn’t apply during summer holiday and most of his clothes were starting to fit a little tight, anyway, he got the feeling Draco was planning something. It was the same feeling he'd gotten when the Weasley twins had planted an exploding snap that they’d set to go off midday in one of the cauldrons in Snape’s classroom. So, he decided to wear his more worn clothing.

It wasn’t until they finally made it out of the dungeon that Harry found out what Draco had planned. “Do you fly?”

Harry’s first response, born from years of muggle raising, was to say, ‘do I what?’ but he stopped himself as he realized that Draco had meant flying on a broom. “No, Professor McGonagall says that it isn’t safe and that I have to wait till first year when Madame Hooch can properly teach me.”

“And you’re going to obey her, like a good little puppy?”

“Of course not!” Harry instantly regretted the rash remark. He’d planned to try and sneak into the broom shed, yes, but he hadn’t had time and, besides, when it came down to it he didn’t think he wanted to make her angry by breaking such a simple rule. Professor McGonagall was scary when she was angry.

“Well, then, do you know where the brooms are?”

Harry chewed the inside of his lip nervously, “Yes.”

“Good.”

Draco opened the main door and walked outside eagerly. Harry held in a sigh and followed. He wasn’t all that sure he wanted to be doing this, but he felt as though backing down now would be cowardly, so he followed. Once outside, he led the way towards the Quidditch pitch and the little wooden shack that sat unassumingly beside it.

“Is tha’ ‘Arry?” Before he could even turn fully around, he found himself scooped up from behind in a crushing embrace.

“Hagrid!” He couldn’t help laughing, despite that fact that he couldn’t draw a breath. “Hagrid, let go! Can’t breath!”

He thumped to the ground and turned around; wrapping his arms less than half around the large man in a hug. “You’re back!”

“Took less time than I thought it would.” He ruffled Harry’s hair affectionately, nearly knocking him over in the process. He looked past Harry at the blonde boy standing behind him, his arms crossed at his chest, and a perturbed look plastered on his pale face. “And who might this be?”

Harry had to keep himself from scrunching his nose up in distaste. “That’s Draco Malfoy. Professor Snape says I have to show him around and he wanted to... see the Quidditch pitch.”

He heard Draco shuffle nervously behind him. Hagrid raised an eyebrow, “Malfoy, eh?” After a moment he nodded at Draco. “’Allo there, young Malfoy. You enjoying your stay, then?”

Draco huffed. “Hardly.”

“He’s only here for two weeks. You said you were going to be gone till term started, what happened?”

Hagrid let out a belly laugh, “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

Harry nodded, “Of course!”

“Well then.” Hagrid leaned down. “I’ve been off on business for Dumbledore.”

“What kind of business?”

“The secret kind.”

“What kind of secret?”

“Never you mind that.” Hagrid stood up and put a heavy hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Now, then, what would you say ter somethin’ warm ter drink.”

Harry nearly laughed in relief. “I’d love it!”

 

____________________

 

Harry hadn’t thought he liked Draco when he’d first heard that he was coming and he’d decided he was right when Draco had kicked him in the back of his legs. His opinion hadn’t changed much in the past week; if anything it had been lowered. First, by the way that Draco refused to talk or think about anything other than himself or, worse yet, his father, and then by the way he was currently smiling while Snape yelled at him for getting back to the castle late.

It wasn’t all Harry’s fault. He didn’t have a watch or anything, and besides, it wasn’t as if Harry had been the one begging to be let out (he might have, given the chance, but that wasn’t the point), Draco had. Why wasn’t it Draco’s responsibility to watch the time? Of course, Harry should have known it was getting late, but he’d been so happy to see Hagrid again that he’d eaten the rock hard treacle fudge and hadn’t bothered to think about the time at all.

So, when they’d gotten back and the sun was already sinking behind the mountains, it wasn’t much of a surprise that Snape was furious.

"I said one hour."

Harry clenched his fists at his side and gritted his teeth, looking at the floor determinedly.

"What could have possibly been so interesting that you mistook one hour for four?"

Draco spoke up from the sofa, where he had seated himself for the best view of the impending argument that he could get. "He was speaking with the big oaf, Hagrid."

Snape continued to stare at Harry as though Draco hadn’t said anything. "At this time, I am your guardian, not the groundskeeper. If I order you to be back in an hour, you are to be back in an hour."

Harry couldn’t help the retort from slipping past his lips, "You didn’t order me to do anything." Thankfully, he hadn’t said it very loudly.

Snape grabbed his chin firmly and forced him to look up. "What was that?"

The piercing black eyes dared him to say it again and Harry was again vividly reminded of his Uncle on his more turbulent days. "Nothing."

The hand tightened for a moment before letting go and pointing to the door to Harry’s room. "Go."

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He turned on his heals and marched into his room, slamming the door shut in his wake.

 

____________________

 

"Wake up."

Harry rolled over, waving a hand half-heartedly behind him to get Dudley to leave him alone. "Wake up, Potter, I’m hungry."

Harry pulled the blanket over his head. "Go make your own breakfast, you great tub of lard." He felt the instant pull of satisfaction and regret; satisfaction, because Harry was rarely indulgent enough to say what he actually thought about any of his relatives and regret, because Uncle Vernon would not be pleased.

"What are you on about, Potter? I am neither obese, nor do I intend to make my own anything. Now get up before I tell Snape you’ve been calling me names again."

Snape?

Harry sat up and opened his eyes, surveying his room. He wasn’t at the Dursleys', he was at Hogwarts. Relief washed over him and he lay back down. It wasn’t that nightmares about living with the Dursleys again didn’t happen often enough, but they were rarely two nights in a row anymore, and rarely so vivid that he forgot where he was.

His relief, however, was short lived, as Draco seemed to be getting annoyed. "Well, are you getting up or not?"

Harry resisted to urge to stick his tongue out childishly and instead got out of the bed, yelping at the cold on his feet as he ran through the bedroom and across the living area into the bathing room. His clothes had already been laid out next to the sink by the over enthusiastic house elves, who made it their business to be several steps ahead of his morning routine.

When he emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, freshly washed and clothed, Draco was sitting at the table alone, looking very perturbed. "I woke you up so that I could eat, not so that you could spend a half hour..." he faltered for a moment, digging for what his father had often said when his mother took too long getting dressed for an evening affair, "making yourself pretty."

Harry stopped; half seated and stared openly at Draco. "I was not ‘making myself pretty,’ I was having a shower!"

Instead of answering, Draco grabbed a biscuit and began spreading marmalade on it. After a moment of silence, Harry sat down, shoving eggs in his mouth obstinately. Of all the nerve! He wasn’t allowed to eat breakfast before he’d taken his shower.

Snape didn’t come in until after they had already finished and the table had been taken away. Harry and Draco were sat down on the couch, Draco rambling on about how bored he was and what exactly he would be doing if he were at home, and Harry not even bothering to pretend he was listening while he pulled a stray piece of string off the couch and rolled it between his fingers.

Looking at them from the doorway, Snape was struck by how very different the two were in that moment. Draco, with his perfectly kept robs laying about him as he sat with his feet on the floor, his platinum blond hair brushed and gelled, with every strand in place, his bright, intelligent grey-blue eyes, and his voice clear and precise, pronouncing every word as he had no doubt been instructed to do; Harry, his too-short, already wrinkled robes of faded black with a spot of food on the front, his feet on his sofa as he sat crossed legged, his hair wild and in every direction, even when still damp, and his eyes glazed over as he found interest in a piece of string.

How Dumbledore had ever expected the two to get along, Snape had no idea but it did seem that the old fool had a tendency to get what he wanted. Draco looked over at Harry, turning his nose up annoyedly as he realized the other boy wasn’t listening. Perhaps in this thing, whatever it was, Dumbledore would be proven wrong, and wouldn’t that be something.

"Potter!"

Harry’s head shot up to meet Snape’s gaze and his face whitened ever so slightly. "Yes, sir?"

"I thought I had made it perfectly clear that you were grounded."

He opened his mouth, but closed it just as quickly. "Yes, sir."

Harry got up to go to his room and Snape caught the crestfallen look on his nephew’s face. Draco, who was an only child, was used to entertaining himself, but this was not his home and perhaps he was feeling more out of place than Snape had noticed... or perhaps Dumbledore was right, after all.

"Stop." Harry halted feet from his door and turned to look at Snape expectantly, who pointed at the door to the hall behind him, "Get out of my sight and I’ll not expect you back till supper. I have work to do."

Draco beamed, but Harry looked perplexed, then annoyed. Getting up from the sofa, Draco took Harry’s arm, ignoring the roll of the other boy’s eyes as he dragged him out into the hall. "Come on, I want to go talk to the portrait again, the one that was insulting me. I’ve thought of something else to say to it."

Perhaps Dumbledore was wrong, Snape even hoped, but as Draco dragged a silently protesting Harry out the door and down the hall, he sadly doubted it. Dumbledore was rarely wrong.

 

____________________

 

Another week. Harry stood against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He had another week to go before he would be free of… of this. Draco had spent the last half hour goading Sir Cadogan.

"Draco, this is boring."

Draco didn’t even bother to turn and look at Harry. "I’m not."

Rolling his eyes, Harry sighed heavily. "Can we do something else?" When Draco didn’t immediately answer, Harry bit down on his lip and then his pride. "Anything else?"

Sliding his eyes over, Draco eyed Harry for a moment, as if weighing his options, before turning fully around and facing the other boy. "Like what?"

"I don’t know."

"Well, how do you expect to tempt me into doing something else if you can’t even suggest what that something else might be?"

Harry bit his tongue, literally. What he wanted more than anything else was to tell Draco to bugger off, but he didn’t think that it would be very long before Snape heard of it and he also didn’t think that he was up for another round of angry Professor at the moment. "I did say anything."

Finally, Draco seemed to take heart and shrugged. "All right, let’s go play chess."

"But..."

"But what? You said anything, I’m your guest, and if you’re bored watching me insult this worthless piece of canvas..."

"You cur!"

"...then the least you can do is let me humiliate you."

On second thought, Malfoy, Harry decided, didn’t have a heart.

 

____________________

 

Harry hissed under his breath as Draco stepped on his foot. "Stop it."

Moments later Draco did it again, once again hitting Harry on the top of his foot with the heel of his shoe. In retaliation, Harry kicked him in the shin, only to be glared at by Snape when Draco exclaimed loudly. "Potter, please refrain yourself. I’m sure if you concentrate hard enough you can find it in yourself to stand still for five minutes."

As much as Harry wanted to scream that he hadn’t started it, he doubted that would make a difference, so he went back to watching the path that lead to the front gate instead. Draco’s father was supposed to arriving at any moment to pick Draco up and Snape had insisted that Harry come to see him off. Harry hadn’t really cared, Professor McGonagall was arriving that evening and he’d be allowed to return to his room in the tower, away from Snape.

After having listened to Draco go on and on about his father, Harry expected a grand entrance of sorts. He wasn’t entirely disappointed. The carriage that finally peaked over the hill was certainly grand, overly so. It was large, painted black with white trim and had designs embedded in silver on the door. The horses that drew it were as white as the carriage was black, with long, shimmering white mains, guided by a well dressed attendant.

The horses came to a stop in front of the school entrance and Harry found himself feeling unnecessarily apprehensive about meeting Mr. Malfoy, especially when he realized that he wasn’t wearing his best robes and, even if he had, they had become too short over the summer.

The carriage door opened after a brief pause and Lucius Malfoy stepped out. Had Harry not been introduced, he could never have mistaken Mr. Malfoy for anyone other than Draco’s father. His hair, while longer than Draco’s and pulled back in a loose ponytail, was still the same platinum blonde; his eyes were the same blue-grey, though more piercing; his robes more intricately designed, but of the same flowing, silken material; he even stared down at Harry in a way that Draco had more than once, although his expression was more inscrutable than his son’s.

Harry jumped slightly as Snape suddenly put a hand on his shoulder and forced him to step forward. "Good afternoon, Lucius, allow me to introduce Harry Potter." His voice absolutely dripped with contempt and Harry fought the urge to say that Snape needn’t have bothered because he’d rather not have been introduced in the first place.

Lucius, however, raised an eyebrow, his eyes showing the barest interest as he looked Harry over. "Mr. Potter." It wasn’t a question, but Harry nodded, anyway. "I do hope my son was pleasant enough company." That wasn’t a question either, but Harry nodded again, just to be safe.

He wasn’t sure what it was about Mr. Malfoy that made him feel uneasy, but he knew that his instincts on such things were rarely wrong. Two years ago he’d met a boy in school that made him feel that way, but he’d ignored it because the boy talked to him and not many people actually talked to Harry. Late that same day, he’d cornered him with Dudley and they’d beaten him up.

Mr. Malfoy nodded back then looked at Snape, a smile weighing just heavy enough on his face. "Severus."

Snape tilted his head, not quite a nod, but Harry supposed it was meant to be cordial. Not that Harry really understood what cordial was, but he assumed it was something bordering polite. "I trust you’ve been well, Lucius."

"As well as can be expected. Narcissa sends her best."

"As do I."

Harry found it disconcerting to be standing between two men, both of whom towered over him, while they passed niceties back and forth. He flicked his eyes and head back and forth, trying to watch the exchange, afraid that he would miss something. Draco, however, didn’t seem to have the same trouble. Harry saw him standing straight, head held high, looking perfectly at ease being treated as if he weren’t there.

It went very quiet and a feeling like ice water washed over Harry and he looked up to see Mr. Malfoy watching him, his face tilted just far enough to allow his eyes to slide downward. "Perhaps next summer, young mister Potter would care to stay at Malfoy Manor."

Damn, he must have missed something.

Lucius swung around and walked briskly towards his carriage. "Come, Draco."

Without looking back, Draco marched after his father stiffly. He got in and Lucius stepped in after him, pausing long enough to say, "Severus, do call at the manor sometime soon, I’ve some things I’d like to discuss with you," before shutting the door and tapped the roof with the cane he’d been carrying.

Harry couldn’t put his unease into words, but there was something about the exchange that bothered him, something…

"Harry?"

The door to the castle opened and McGonagall stepped out, the beginnings of worry etched into her face. Harry grinned broadly, all thoughts of Draco Malfoy and his father pushed from his head, and rushed to meet her.

Relief washed over her face as he ran to her and threw his arms around her in a hug. Minerva hadn’t realized exactly how much she had missed him until she’d returned and been unable to find him. She’d gone to unpack and then went to the dungeons, but couldn’t get an answer when she knocked. He hadn’t been in the Gryffindor common room, nor the kitchens and she hadn’t been able to find Severus, either.

It was irrational, Hogwarts was the safest place for the boy, but she couldn’t help the fear that wormed it’s way into her otherwise reasonable mind and she’d set out looking for him. Squeezing the boy just a little tighter, she looked around and noticed Severus standing a few feet away from them, glaring openly at the scene.

Letting Harry go, she patting his shoulder and took his hand before turning her attention to her fellow Professor. "Good afternoon, Severus."

"Minerva." He was always in such a fowl temper, perhaps Dumbledore was right and the man simply needed to find himself suitable companionship, but Minerva often thought there was more to it than that.

"How was your holiday?"

He scowled at Harry and Minerva fought the urge to lecture him on taking things out on Harry that weren’t his fault. It wouldn’t do to lecture a Professor in front of Harry and she didn’t want to undermine the boy’s respect for one of his elders - she caught Harry scowling back – however minimal that respect might be.

Severus crossed his arms over his chest and raised his gaze to meet Minerva’s again. "My holiday was not nearly as much of one as some. Now that you are here, however, I believe I shall go and enjoy some peace and quiet."

He turned around to leave and Minerva sighed. He really was just disagreeable by nature sometimes. When she and Harry were once again alone on the steps she looked down at Harry and noticed for the first time that the cuffs of his robes rode just above his ankles.

"Harry, have you grown?"

His sullen scowl instantly became a heart warming grin. "Some."

She hadn’t remembered his voice being so small. "We’ll have to get you some new clothes then, perhaps tomorrow. But first, tell me about your summer."

He instantly clammed up, dropping his eyes to his feet and frowning slightly. "It was alright."

That was nothing like her Harry, who was all talk and smiles and hid nothing. Her Harry who had so boldly proclaimed that the house elves needn’t cook bacon for him because he could do it himself and he didn’t mind getting burned by the grease because the Dursleys had made him do it all the time and he’d gotten used to it. Once he’d opened up, no topic seemed to be off limits.

She tilted his chin up, but what she saw in his eyes told her it wasn’t going to do any good to push him at the moment. It was the same look he’d given them the first few weeks he’d been there, that stubborn quiet. Ah, well, she’d try again later.

"I brought you a present."

And he was all smiles again, as if he’d never stopped. She really had missed him.


	3. Summer 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted in 2004.

July 1, 1991

It had taken Minerva only two weeks to get the truth from Harry, but it had been a long two weeks.  Two weeks of him waking up to nightmares like he had in the beginning, two weeks of him shying away anytime his summer was mentioned, or clamming up when he thought he’d done something wrong.  It had been two weeks that had taken Minerva so by surprise that when he finally did speak up and say, in a very small voice that sounded more like a squeak, “He hit me,” that she couldn’t formulate an immediate response.  Then, he had added very quickly, “That’s all.”

That’s all?  She hadn’t given much thought the previous year to the kind of lasting damage the Dursleys’ abuse might have had.  Harry had been so outgoing and so affectionate and so immediately… normal.  It had been very easy to pretend he was like any other nine-year-old and forget the rest.

So, she’d taken him to Albus, made Harry tell him, and Dumbledore, with very somber eyes, had said that it would never happen again.  He’d looked sad and concerned, but not surprise and Minerva didn’t doubt he had known all along and was simply waiting for Harry to tell someone.

She had sat Harry down later that evening and explained in as calm a manner as she could, that what the Dursleys had done was wrong.  That they shouldn’t have locked him in a cupboard, or starved him, or hit him and that if anybody ever did anything like that again it was important that he tell Dumbledore or someone else immediately.  He hadn’t appeared to believe her, not really, but had nodded and said that he understood, which was going to have to be enough for then.

Like before, however, his shyness was short lived.  With returning students fawning over him and, god help her, trying to corrupt him further, it wasn’t long before he was the same over-energetic handful that she remembered.  The only saving grace was that he had apparently learned his lesson about eating things like entire chocolate cakes on his own and did not come down with any mysterious stomach ailments that year.

What he did come down with, however, was a severe cold.  Severe, only because he had not told anyone he was feeling ill.  In fact, he’d gotten up a little earlier and smiled a bit more.  She had noticed he looked tired, but thought he’d had another restless night.  It wasn’t until the next morning, when he was burning up with fever and had broken into a cold sweat that she’d known he was sick at all.

When asked why he didn’t say anything he’d said that he hadn’t wanted to be a bother and that his Aunt Petunia had always told him if he were well enough to walk, he was well enough to go about his day without bothering her.  Minerva hadn’t been that tempted to go and hunt down his relatives since he’d first arrived with that bright bruise marring his cheek.

With everything that had happened that year it was difficult to look Harry in the eye and explain that he had to stay with Professor Snape again that summer, but to her great surprise, that was not what he had complained about.  He was very docile about the whole affair right up until she told him Draco Malfoy would be returning again.  At the mention of young Malfoy he’d immediately become agitated, saying, “I’d rather spend my entire summer locked in a room alone with the greasy git than have to entertain that… that…”

Then, he’d used a word that proved he’d been spending far too much time with the Weasley twins and earned him his first official grounding from Minerva and a stern lecture on inappropriate language.  In the end, however, Dumbledore insisted that Draco was coming and Harry had gone back to moping about the castle as summer approached.

If Minerva thought it possible, she would have requested that Harry be allowed to accompany her home, but his safety came first and Hogwarts was the safest place for him.  So, instead, she had made sure he had plenty of things to occupy him during the next few weeks.  She’d even bought him several fictional books that did not fall under the category of classics and toys that weren’t educational, but looked interesting enough to keep his attention for more than five minutes.

When it was time for her to leave, Harry offered to see her to the front, instead of her having to drop him off with Snape and she was suspicious, but he was nearly eleven-years-old and there weren’t a great many places he could go inside of Hogwarts that Dumbledore couldn’t find.  She hugged him goodbye, hoping that she wouldn’t have to return to help look for him that evening.

 

____________________

 

Harry went to the dungeons the moment Professor McGonagall’s carriage was out of sight.  He had thought about wandering around the castle and putting it off, but in the end, that was only going to make it worse and he had promised her he would go straight there.  After an entire year of avoiding Snape and being avoided in return, he was not looking forward to living with the man for eight weeks.  Of course, if he were lucky, six of those weeks would go the same as last year and he wouldn’t be spending nearly as much time in the dungeons as he would be with Hagrid, or Dumbledore, or in the kitchens, or the halls; anywhere but there.

Snape was at his desk when Harry entered, looking over something with a concentrated knit in his brow.  He didn’t look up as Harry went into his bedroom and while Harry thought it was incredibly rude of him, he was also relieved.  The room looked like it had the previous year, with the exception of a new poster hanging on the wall over his bed and a trunk that he knew was now overflowing with things for him to do.

Professor McGonagall really had gone all out preparing him for the summer.  She’d bought him clothes that were slightly bigger, in case he grew some more, several pairs of muggle jeans that he could get dirty, books with titles like ‘The White Mountains’ and ‘The Island of Adventure’ that were quiet obviously not historical or autobiographical in any way, his own chess set because she’d seen one of the Ravenclaw’s trying to teach it to him, exploding snap, playing cards with moving pictures of dragons on them because no matter how many times he saw it Harry was always interested in watching pictures move, and more toys than he’d had in his entire life.  He’d even gotten a new set of soldiers that weren’t broken like his olds ones, only they weren’t really soldiers, they were wizards and they hexed each other in battle instead of fighting with swords.

It had all been so overwhelming when he’d first seen it, Harry hadn’t known what to say.  ‘Thank you’ seemed a bit understated, but he said it anyway, for lack of anything better.  McGonagall seemed pleased by it and had hugged him and told him that he was to write her once a week and tell her everything, no matter how silly it seemed.  Harry really wasn’t sure what he was supposed to write, but he had a week to figure it out.  

Getting up from the bed, Harry went to his desk and looked at the books blankly.  He didn’t even know where to start.  There were too many of them, twelve, actually, but he’d only ever had five unread books at a time and twelve seemed like such a large number when he had so many other things to do.

He was so intent on staring at the brightly colored bindings that he jumped when Snape opened his door.  He sat up straight and tried not to look as intimidated as he felt.  His stomach was all knots, like he was going to be sick.

“Lunch will be served is ten minutes, Potter, I do not expect you to be late.”

The door closed again and Harry breathed a great sigh of relief.  It was going to be a long summer.

 

____________________

 

Draco sat in the carriage with his father, arms crossed over his chest, pouting.  He didn’t care if he looked childish and he certainly didn’t care if it wasn’t Malfoyish because it wasn’t very Malfoyish to spend two weeks out of every summer with a half-blood orphan, either.

It wasn’t as if his summers were all that interesting to begin with.  He usually spent them following his mother around as she went shopping and to see various relatives who sized him up, telling her what a good boy he was.  It was all terribly boring, but the last few weeks of summer, when there were no more irritating relatives left to see and there were no more clothes to buy him, his mother left him alone and he was free to spend time with his friends, Gregory and Vincent, or whatever else struck his fancy.  Spending time with Potter, however, in no way ‘struck his fancy.’

His father stared at him disapprovingly, “Sit straight, Draco.”

Draco sighed and sat straighter.

“And lower your arms.”

He sighed louder and did as he was told.

“Don’t sigh.”

He held in the urge to do it again.  “Is there anything I can do, father?”  It wasn’t often he talked back, because Lucius Malfoy was not the sort of person you talked back to, but Draco was too irritated to care at the moment.

His father narrowed his eyes angrily.  “You can stop acting like a child.”  When Draco opened his mouth to say that he was not acting like a child, he was cut off.  “You can start behaving like a Malfoy.  Malfoys do not slouch and they do not pout.  I will not have you make such an impression on the Potter boy.”

“Malfoys don’t bother with making impressions on half-bloods like Potter.”

“Malfoys do what they must and they do it with dignity.  Allegiances are everything Draco and that boy will be an asset.  If I find you have jeopardized that with your insolent behavior I will not hesitate to punish you.  Am I understood?”

Draco looked down at his lap.  Punished meant the cane and the last time his father had punished him he hadn’t been able to sit down for several days. “Yes, Father.”

“Head up, Draco, we’re approaching the school.”

Looking out the window, Draco saw Snape standing outside, a hand clenched tightly on Harry’s shoulder in an entirely unaffectionate way.  Actually, it looked rather like he was trying to restrain him.  Harry jerked his shoulder, but didn’t try and move away.

Draco bit his lip anxiously then forced himself to suppress the unrefined gesture.  What if Harry said or did something that let his father known they didn’t get along?  Would he be punished for not having made friends with Harry last summer?

Lucius stood as the carriage stopped and opened the door, stepping out.  Draco quickly followed, holding his head up and his hands firmly at his sides, watching Harry.  The other boy’s head was down and his fists were clenched tightly.

Walking up, Draco nodded at him, “Hello, Harry.”

Harry looked up, his mouth partly open and his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.  For a moment, Draco thought that Harry was going to make a cutting remark and he blanched slightly.  Harry, however, didn’t say anything other than, “Hello, Draco,” though he was looking at Draco strangely.

Lucius watched them for a moment, his eyes staying on Harry a little longer than was necessary before looking up at Severus.  “Good afternoon, Severus.”

“Good afternoon, Lucius, I trust your ride was pleasant.”

“As pleasant as can be expected.”

It was always so boring watching his father chat with his associates, they always said the same things.  Looking at Harry, he tried to catch the other boy’s eye, but Harry seemed more interested in the ground.  His father put a hand on his shoulder, catching him off guard, but he managed not to look too surprised.

“I’ll be leaving now, Draco, I trust you and young Mister Potter will have fun.”  The hand on his shoulder tightened minutely, just enough to remind him that it was not so much a fond goodbye as an order.

He watched the carriage until it was out of sight, aware that someone had gone back inside, but assuming it was Harry.  When he turned around, however, he found Harry staring oddly at him again.  He looked around as discreetly as possible; reassuring himself that Snape had indeed gone inside before turning back to Harry.  “What?”

Harry shrugged, “Don’t know.”

“Then why are you staring?  Am I that interesting, Potter?”

Harry flushed slightly.  “No, it’s just odd, that’s all.”

Draco felt his irritation from the previous summer returning, “What’s odd?”

“I don’t know, it just is.”

Rolling his eyes, Draco brushed past Harry to go inside and made his way to the dungeons.  His things would be seen to by the house elves and he wanted to make sure that everything got there and that it was properly put away.  Last time they had folded his trousers instead of hanging them and he’d had to deal with creases all summer.

It didn’t occur to him until he was half there that Harry was following him.  Turning around abruptly, he crossed his arms over his chest, deciding that it was an appropriate gesture when angry, as his father used it often enough on him.  “Why are you following me.”

Harry had an annoyed look on his face, his mouth pursed and his eyes narrowed slightly.  “Snape’s orders.  I’m to stay with you this summer as apposed to running off on my own.”

Of all the… “What if I don’t want you around me?”

“Well, I guess he didn’t think about that, did he?”

Part of Draco knew that Harry was as upset about the situation as he was.  They didn’t like each other, it was absurd that they be required to stay in each other’s company.  The other part of him was more than a little upset that Harry found his presence so distasteful.  Draco was a pureblood, his family lineage had proud history.  Harry was the low class half-blood.  If anyone were to find the situation distasteful, it should be Draco, not Harry.

For a moment, Draco bit his lip, despite the fact that his father repeatedly told him not to.  Bugger his father anyway, he wasn’t the one having to deal with a Potter.  “So, you’re just going to follow me around, then?”

“Yes, I thought I might as you seem like such a nice person to be around.”

It took Draco a moment to recognize the sarcasm.  He didn’t hear a great deal of it and when he did it certainly wasn’t aimed at him.  He threw his arms back down to his sides and turned around, storming towards the dungeons.  If Harry were going to be a prat, his father couldn’t very well blame him for simply being one back.  In fact…

A smile started to spread across his face and he slowed his pace a little.  Yes, this could very much work out to his advantage.  He stopped at Snape’s door and looked back at Harry, smile still in place and saw the unnerved look on the dark haired boy’s face.  Definitely to his advantage.

 

____________________

 

“Stop following me.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can!”

“No, I can’t!”

“Yes, you can!!”

“No, I can’t!! Snape ordered me to stay with you and I’m not disobeying him because it bothers you.” Draco couldn’t help but feel that the fact it bothered him might have been something of an added incentive for obeying the Professor.

Turning around, Draco crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the black haired boy in annoyance. Over the year, Harry had grown, but so had Draco and while their height difference was less Draco was still a good deal taller.

“What do I have to do to make you go away?”

Harry brightened some, “Talk to Snape?”

“…”

Harry’s face darkened and he leaned against a wall, waiting. Finally, Draco started walking again. He’d been walking around the castle all afternoon, trying to find something to do and Harry had just followed with his hands clenched at his sides, stubbornly refusing to offer suggestions.

Three corridors later, Draco felt as if a vessel might have popped in his temple. “Stop it!”

Harry went past him, continuing down the corridor as if he hadn’t heard. After a moment, Draco started walking again, staying behind Harry at first, to see where he was going, and then speeding up when he realized that he didn’t like following nearly as much as he liked leading, even if he didn’t know where he was going.

Draco suddenly stopped as he found himself standing in the entrance hall for the fifth time that day. “How the…?” but stopped himself when he remembered that Harry was standing there. It wouldn’t do to look as if he hadn’t known where he was going, especially when he realized that Harry didn’t look in the least surprised.

He looked around, trying to decide what he wanted to do. He could always go down to the dungeons, but Snape had said he would be there all day working on his research and that he didn’t want to be disturbed. Somehow, Draco figured that his coming in and looking for something to entertain himself would count as a ‘disturbance.’

Looking around again, he eyed the great, large doors leading outside and nodded to himself. At least outside it was easier to tell if you were going in circles. Besides, if Potter weren’t allowed to go off on his own, perhaps this time they could actually make it to the broom shed.

Opening the door, he started out before he realized that Potter was still standing next to the stairs and not moving to follow him. In fact, he looked vaguely smug. Draco cocked an eyebrow suspiciously. “What are you doing? I thought you were supposed to follow me.”

“Yes, but I’m not allowed to go outside, either. Don’t let that stop you, though.”

Bloody Snape, he’d finally found something he needed Potter for and it contradicted one of his bloody rules. With a huff, Draco threw shut the door. After an hour walking around the perimeter of the castle, trying to find something to amuse himself, he gave up and headed back towards and entrance.

It really wasn’t fair at all. Not that he wanted to be alone in particular, it was a great expanse of a castle, larger even than Malfoy Manor, no matter how much he hated to admit it. Left alone, he’d probably get lost and then someone would have to come find him and he’d have to admit that he was lost. It was more the idea that he couldn’t be alone that bothered him the most. Well, not unless he left the castle, but what if it was raining when he decided he wanted to be alone?

Sitting outside the door, Draco put his chin in his hands and looked out over the grassy plane, trying to waste time before going back inside so that it wouldn’t look as if he were hopelessly bored on his own. The only interesting thing he could think of to do was get Harry in trouble, but the only good idea he could come up with so far was making Harry break into the broom shed, but that wouldn’t work if Harry weren’t allowed to leave the castle. Of course, getting him to leave the castle altogether was another way to get him in trouble, but he wasn’t quite sure how he was going to go about that, yet.

Getting off the step, Draco swiped at his backside, making sure there wasn’t any dirt on him before he headed inside. He’d figure something out, it was just going to take longer than he’d thought.

____________________

 

“Stop following me.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can!”

“No, I can’t!”

“Yes, you can!!”

“No, I can’t!! Snape ordered me to stay with you and I’m not disobeying him because it bothers you.” Draco couldn’t help but feel that the fact it bothered him might have been something of an added incentive for obeying the Professor.

Turning around, Draco crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the black haired boy in annoyance. Over the year, Harry had grown, but so had Draco and while their height difference was less Draco was still a good deal taller.

“What do I have to do to make you go away?”

Harry brightened some, “Talk to Snape?”

“…”

Harry’s face darkened and he leaned against a wall, waiting. Finally, Draco started walking again. He’d been walking around the castle all afternoon, trying to find something to do and Harry had just followed with his hands clenched at his sides, stubbornly refusing to offer suggestions.

Three corridors later, Draco felt as if a vessel might have popped in his temple. “Stop it!”

Harry went past him, continuing down the corridor as if he hadn’t heard. After a moment, Draco started walking again, staying behind Harry at first, to see where he was going, and then speeding up when he realized that he didn’t like following nearly as much as he liked leading, even if he didn’t know where he was going.

Draco suddenly stopped as he found himself standing in the entrance hall for the fifth time that day. “How the…?” but stopped himself when he remembered that Harry was standing there. It wouldn’t do to look as if he hadn’t known where he was going, especially when he realized that Harry didn’t look in the least surprised.

He looked around, trying to decide what he wanted to do. He could always go down to the dungeons, but Snape had said he would be there all day working on his research and that he didn’t want to be disturbed. Somehow, Draco figured that his coming in and looking for something to entertain himself would count as a ‘disturbance.’

Looking around again, he eyed the great, large doors leading outside and nodded to himself. At least outside it was easier to tell if you were going in circles. Besides, if Potter weren’t allowed to go off on his own, perhaps this time they could actually make it to the broom shed.

Opening the door, he started out before he realized that Potter was still standing next to the stairs and not moving to follow him. In fact, he looked vaguely smug. Draco cocked an eyebrow suspiciously. “What are you doing? I thought you were supposed to follow me.”

“Yes, but I’m not allowed to go outside, either. Don’t let that stop you, though.”

Bloody Snape, he’d finally found something he needed Potter for and it contradicted one of his bloody rules. With a huff, Draco threw shut the door. After an hour walking around the perimeter of the castle, trying to find something to amuse himself, he gave up and headed back towards and entrance.

It really wasn’t fair at all. Not that he wanted to be alone in particular, it was a great expanse of a castle, larger even than Malfoy Manor, no matter how much he hated to admit it. Left alone, he’d probably get lost and then someone would have to come find him and he’d have to admit that he was lost. It was more the idea that he couldn’t be alone that bothered him the most. Well, not unless he left the castle, but what if it was raining when he decided he wanted to be alone?

Sitting outside the door, Draco put his chin in his hands and looked out over the grassy plane, trying to waste time before going back inside so that it wouldn’t look as if he were hopelessly bored on his own. The only interesting thing he could think of to do was get Harry in trouble, but the only good idea he could come up with so far was making Harry break into the broom shed, but that wouldn’t work if Harry weren’t allowed to leave the castle. Of course, getting him to leave the castle altogether was another way to get him in trouble, but he wasn’t quite sure how he was going to go about that, yet.

Getting off the step, Draco swiped at his backside, making sure there wasn’t any dirt on him before he headed inside. He’d figure something out, it was just going to take longer than he’d thought.

____________________ 

 

Draco had been raised under the strictest code of etiquette and, not surprisingly, among those was had been to always eat everything that was put in front of him, never ask for more, never eat with his hands, no matter how practical it may seem, keep his elbows off the table and his feet on the floor, and never be so goush as to add anything to the food. His parents had always led by example and when they had eaten out, or gone to functions it was with the highest of wizarding society and so it wasn’t very surprising that Draco had never been around anyone who broke those rules. Until last summer.

It had been more than just unsettling when Harry had ordered something called fish sticks instead of eating the Halibut in cream sauce and he’d been horrified when Harry had not only poured a sweet smelling red sauce on top of it, but picked up each stick with his hands and then licked his fingers when he was finished. The little barbarian hadn’t even unfolding his napkin! It had been… traumatizing, which was the excuse Draco was using for having forgotten all about it until three nights ago when he’d sat down to a lovely meal of chicken in a thick portabella mushroom glaze and seen something that he vaguely recalled Harry having referred to as a grilled cheese sandwich. And while Draco wasn’t entirely sure what a grilled cheese sandwich was, he was fairly certain it wasn’t meant to have catsup on it.

Then, as if that hadn’t been bad enough, Harry had crossed his legs in his chair, leaned with his elbows on the table, and slouched! It was unthinkable! It’s was disgusting! It was… curious, which was probably the worst of it. There was a part of him that perpetually asked whether it tasting as disgusting as it looked or as good as Harry made it seem. Of course, he wasn’t about to try it. No self respecting Malfoy ate anything with his hands and certainly nothing called fish sticks or grilled cheese sandwiches.

Potter’s bad habits were not the only thing bothering Draco, however, because he still had yet to come up with anything that would get Harry in any real trouble. Oh, he’d discovered the other morning that if he snuck back in the room after Harry cleaned it and undid the bed, even in the slightest, Snape would spend half an hour lecturing Harry, but that was hardly what he had been going for. No, Snape lecturing someone was amusing, but not nearly so much as when he lost his temper and went red in the face and choked on what he was saying.

He’d thought that if could get Harry out of the castle there were several things that would more than likely achieve such an effect, like flying. He was fairly certain that Snape would blow his calm if he found Harry had broken into the broom shed, or even the greenhouse. Draco vividly remembered his father caning him for sneaking into theirs, telling him that it was for his own good and that many of the magical plants there were deadly.

However, Harry didn’t seem likely to leave the castle. In fact, he seemed perfectly content, if a little annoyed at times, to follow Draco around and when Draco did something like going outside he looked just as happy to sit on the stairs inside the door and wait. It was infuriating and it was boring, but there wasn’t very much he could do about it.

Looking down at the chessboard he moved his pawn forward and took another look around the room while he waited for Harry to make his move. Snape had said he was going to be in his workroom all afternoon and that he wasn’t to be bothered unless one of them was afflicted with a mortal wound. Draco had considered interrupting him and blaming it on Harry, but he wasn’t sure what Snape was working on and some potions were very volatile in certain stages. So, since he didn’t fancy being blown up, or otherwise injured, he’d decided against it.

Harry moved his knight and Draco quickly checked him and went back to thinking. He could always riffle through Snape’s desk and say Harry had done it, but then what would he say he’d been looking for? Or he could break something, but the few glass objects there were around the room were either unmarked potions, or priceless artifacts and he wasn’t brave enough to touch something when he didn’t know what it might do.

If only Snape left things out that he could identify, like Potions ingredients. Draco had read loads of books on potions and even if he’d never made anything more complicated than something to change his hair blue, he knew he could do it, or was fairly sure that he could. But Snape didn’t leave potions ingredients lying around, he kept them locked up in his storeroom, wherever that was.

Harry had just reached over to move his queen, which would leave him open for a check mate, when an idea struck Draco so suddenly that he couldn’t even suppress his cry of, “Ah ha!”

The dark haired boy’s hand jumped back from the chessboard; as if he thought he’d been about to do something wrong and he stared at Draco with apprehensive eyes. “What do you mean ‘ah ha’?”

Draco smirked, knowing full well that the expression infuriated Harry. “I’m bored.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, “And?”

“I want to break into Snape’s storeroom.”

The green eyes went impossibly wide. “Why would you want to do that?”

“I want to make something.”

“Are you mad? Do you have any idea how angry he’ll be if you go poking around his storeroom?”

Draco pretended to think for a moment, “Yes, and I’m rather looking forward to it.” He stood up and went over to Snape’s desk, picking up one of the potion’s manuals and sitting in the stiff backed chair to flip through it. “I’m fairly good at potions, actually, so I’m pretty sure I can suss something out. How would you feel about… oh, no, that’s no good… that’s just gross… you can do that? Here we are! _Ignisefflo_ three drops of this and you’ll be breathing fire for half an hour. And it’s easy, all we need is…”

“I’ll go outside.”

Draco tilted his eyes to look at Harry over the rim of the book, but didn’t put it down. “What was that?”

“This is some stupid scheme to get me into trouble, like messing the room up when I wasn’t looking, right?” Draco didn’t answer, but apparently, Harry didn’t need him to. “So, fine, I’ll go along, but not his storeroom. I rather fancy the idea of surviving the summer, if you don’t mind.”

It hadn’t occurred to Draco that Harry knew what he was up to; he hadn’t thought he was that transparent. Not that it mattered, except that Harry willingly getting himself into trouble wasn’t nearly as much fun. Biting his lip behind the book so that Harry couldn’t see the undignified gesture, he finally decided that having company outside was far too appealing to pass up.

Shutting the book, he set it on the desk and stood up, “All right, let’s go.”

Harry relaxed, heaving a relieved sigh before pulling his shoes on and following him out the door. Draco decided it was a lovely day the moment they stepped outside. It was warm, but breezy, and the sun was hiding behind bright white clouds. Perfect conditions for flying, assuming they were successful in breaking into the broom shed… which they weren’t, but it had been an admirable try.

“Now what?” Harry sat on the grass next to the still locked door and Draco was sorely tempted to join him, except that Malfoys don’t sit on the ground.

“Now, we think of something else to do.”

Harry tilted his head up at the sky and smiled a little and Draco was struck by how genuine it was. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone as genuine as Harry and he was fairly sure that was what bothered him the most about the other boy. “There’s a tree that attacks people.”

“Can we attack it back?”

“Not and do any damage, I don’t think. It’s a rather large tree.”

“Then no. Think of something else.”

Harry looked around the pitch. “We could go swimming in the lake. Snape hates it when I come in dirty, so I bet he wouldn’t be keen on soaking wet.”

It was appealing, but… “Then I’d have go too, and my robes would be absolutely ruined. No, keep thinking.”

“We could see if Hagrid left Fang behind and go into the Forbidden Forest.”

“Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”

“It’s broad daylight, so as long as we don’t go too far in we’d be safe.”

It was a thought. “How much trouble would that get you in?”

“If I lead the way, you can say I took you and that will probably get me grounded until the start of term.” After a moment, he nodded his consent and Harry stood up, leading the way across the grounds yet again. As they trudged towards the groundskeeper’s hut, Draco was struck by the very odd realization that having Harry help get himself into trouble hadn’t taken any of the fun out of it at all, so far. In fact, it was kind of nice to have someone intelligent to plot with. Usually, he was stuck with Crabbe and Goyle and they couldn’t string together a proper thought that didn’t involve food, let alone give him intelligent feedback.

Harry stopped and Draco almost ran into him, having lost himself in his train of thought. They were standing outside the dirty little cottage and he waited while Harry opened the door, bringing out a very large boarhound, “This is Fang, he has a great sense of danger.”

Harry patted the dog’s head and Draco cringed as the beast began licking the other boy, large tongue drooling all over his hand. It was disgusting, it was undignified, it was… unsanitary.

“Are you going to lead us into the forest, or should I go back and start gathering ingredients?”

Frowning, Harry took Fang’s collar and started walking to a small path in the dense trees. It was very dark in the forest, despite it being mid-afternoon and Draco wondered if this had been such a good idea, after all. Of course, he couldn’t voice that, it wouldn’t do to look like a coward, but it wasn’t a bad idea to be cautious.

“Potter, you said the dog could sense danger?”

Harry nodded mutely, looking around at the tall trees above them and then the dark forest ahead as they followed a little path through the forest.

“How will we know when he senses it?”

“If he smells something, he’ll start to whine. If it’s dangerous, he’ll run.”

“He’ll attack?”

“Oh, no, Fang’s a bloody of coward, he’ll take the fastest way out of the forest.”

Draco came to an abrupt halt. “He’ll run? How does his running help us if there’s danger?!”

Harry made hushing noises and lowered his voice, “If Fang runs, I’m going to follow. I’d suggest you do the same.”

As if on cue, Fang stopped moving and crouched down defensively. A moment later, he let out a high-pitched whine. Draco wasn’t entirely sure what he should be doing, but Harry had stepped closer to the dog, so he opted to follow.

Fang didn’t move, but kept whining, as if he wasn’t sure what he was smelling and Draco was about to suggest they turn back around, bravery be damned, when Harry did it for him. “Let’s go back. I reckon this’ll get me in loads of trouble, anyway.”

Fang sat up suddenly and turned around, wagging his tail at something behind them.

“Indeed it will, Mr. Potter.”

 Snape had found them, and despite the fact that getting Harry into trouble had been his idea and despite the fact that he knew he would not be the one getting yelled at, he cringed.

____________________ 

 

It had been fun watching Harry get into trouble at first. Snape had been calm and reprimanding and Harry had stood, slightly slumped, with his hands behind his back and his cheeks red with embarrassment. It had all been incredibly humorous.

“Kindly explain to me, Mr. Potter, what you were doing in the Forbidden Forest without adult supervision?”

A fleeting glance at Draco. “I was bored, I guess.”

“And what, exactly, did I tell you at the beginning of this summer?”

“That I was not to go outside without a professor present.”

“And what does Dumbledore say regarding the Forbidden Forest at the beginning of every year?”

“That it’s off limits.”

“Meaning?”

“That I shouldn’t go in there because it’s dangerous and I could get myself killed.”

“Is there any part of that that you do not understand?”

“No, I…”

“Do not interrupt!”

“Yes, Professor.”

“So, now tell me again exactly what you were thinking leading not only yourself, but Draco as well, into the Forbidden Forest with nothing more than a useless mutt for protection?”

The pink in Harry’s cheeks had quickly turned red with anger. “He’s not a mutt! Fang is a boarhound and he isn’t useless. He…”

Snape’s hand opened and jerked half up before he caught himself and dropped it back to his side, raising his voice. Harry flinched, but didn’t turn to run, hadn’t even tried to protect himself. “Do not interrupt!” And it had only gotten worse from then.

Within minutes Harry’s hands had gone from meekly clasped behind his back, to balled into fists at his side and Snape had gone from calmly lecturing to yelling so loudly that spit occasionally flew at the other boy. Draco had never seen anything like it.

“When I tell you not to go outside, you do not go outside! If you are told not to enter the Forbidden Forest, you do not enter it! We put down rules for a reason, boy, and you may not understand them, but you will obey them!”

“I understand your stupid rules!”

“Then why do you insist on disobeying them?!”

He’d thought that Harry getting into trouble with Snape would be akin to himself getting into trouble with his father. His father, however, had never become so enraged that he lost control of his temperament. Indeed, the angrier that Lucius Malfoy got, the calmer and quieter he became and when he did finally put Draco over his knee and cane him, it was in a very collected fashion.

This was entirely different.

“Are you mentally deficient, you reckless _child_?! Have you no respect for your elders, who…”

“I have respect for my elder, just not greasy gits who spend all their time trying to make sure everybody else is as miserable as they are! You won’t let me go outside because you don’t want me to spend time with Hagrid and if you could have found a way to keep me from Professor Dumbeldore by locking me in the dungeon, you would have done that, too! And…”

Harry was cut off by Snape grabbing his arm. He pulled away. “Let me go!”

Snape marched to his fireplace, struggling boy still in tow and twisted a gargoyle on the mantle. Instantly, the bookcase next to it swung open, revealing a very dark, narrow room that Draco recognized as his storeroom. Before Harry could protest, Snape thrust him inside and quickly twisted the gargoyle, closing the doorway before Harry could run back out.

“You will spend the next few hours thinking about why you should obey the rules that are put in place to protect your worthless hide and if I find so much as a single broken item, I will lay into you with a belt, regardless of what Albus may have to say about it!”

Draco sat very still as Snape stormed across the room and sat at his desk, jabbing his quill into an ink bottle and scratching violently on a page. He wanted to leave the room, or, if he were entirely honest with himself, he wanted to go and make sure Harry was alright, but he didn’t dare move for fear of drawing attention to himself.

Eventually, he settled himself into the sofa and sat as still as possible. It wasn’t long before the scratches of Snape’s quill put him to sleep.

 

 ____________________ 

 

Draco didn’t remember going to bed that evening, but he knew he must have, because when he woke up he was in his pajamas, tucked into bed. Then again, as he wiggled around, trying to get himself untucked, he might not have done so. He’d never have managed to tuck both his arms so firmly under the blankets that it took concerted effort to get them free.

Finally he managed to push the smothering comforter away and sat up, looking around groggily. Hm, Harry wasn’t in bed, he must have gotten up early. Glancing at the clock, he noted that, indeed, it read ‘early.’ It was the first time Draco could remember that Harry had not only managed to get up, but get out of the room without him noticing. Usually, Draco woke up, then decided whether he wanted to go back to sleep or not.

Feeling slightly disconcerting, he got up and put on his slippers, looking around dazedly. Nothing seemed out of place. The books were still stacked neatly, the paper and quill that Harry used were untouched on the desk, and the other side of the bed was unwrinkled and neatly made. If there was one thing Draco was not, it was a morning person and he didn’t exactly know what was nagging at him, but something wasn’t right.

He decided, after a few moments of consideration that it wasn’t anything that couldn’t wait for him to properly wake up. So, he went to the dresser and pulled out his clothes, a pair of black trousers and a white tunic style pull over, and padded across the living room and into the bathroom.

As he made his way, that 'something' began to bother him even more and he looked around the living room, confused. The furniture was all where it should be, no one’s head was sticking out of the fireplace, Snape was at his desk, as he always was first thing in the morning, and… wait, where was Harry? Stopping with his hand on the door, Draco blinked and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, looking again.

“Where’s Harry?”

Snape stopped what he was doing. He didn’t pause, or turn to Draco, simply stopped and lifted his head to stare at the wall in front of him for a good thirty seconds before saying, “He’ll be along shortly.”

Draco shrugged and locked the door behind himself. Strange. That look on Snape’s face, he’d seen that before. Not on Snape, though, but where?   Oh, yes, it was on his father. He splashed water on his face while the bath filled.

‘Father, we have to go surprise mother before she wakes up!’

‘Why ever would we do that?’

‘It’s her birthday!’

That was it. His mother’s birthday when he was six. He’d drawn her a card and had the house elves animate it and then he’d made them get him fresh strawberries to give her in bed. The look on his father’s face when he realized he’d forgotten her birthday was… wait a minute. He’d forgotten.

Snape had forgotten Harry.

He heard the grating sound of the shelf swinging open. “Go to your room and do not come out until I retrieve you.”

Harry mumbled an unintelligible response, but it was probably something along the lines of ‘yes, sir,’ because Snape didn’t say anything else, just closed the shelf. Draco frowned at his reflection before heading over to the bath.

He spent the next ten minutes soaking in the water, trying to figure out how a person could be so very angry with someone one moment and then forget about them entirely the next. His father, no matter how angry, had never forgotten about him. After a moment, he was forced to amend that to ‘not that he knew about,’ because he had been grounded several times and perhaps his father had forgotten he was there and he just didn’t know it.

Dunking his head underwater, he felt himself waking by degrees and decided that he’d spent as much time in the bathroom as he could warrant. Besides, the water was getting cold.

He was in the process of putting on his trousers, when it finally occurred to him what was really wrong. It bothered him. Not that Snape had forgotten, because he thought he might have forgotten things before, so it could be possible, but that it had been _his_ fault that Harry was in the storeroom in the first place.

Pulling his tunic style shirt over his head, he huffed. No, it wasn’t his fault. He’d meant to get Harry in trouble, but it was Harry’s fault for snapping back like he had. Draco couldn’t even fathom an occasion when he might have thought about talking back to his father. It just wasn’t done.

For some reason, however, this logic seemed to escape that part of him that wanted to go and find out if Harry was all right. Finally, he gave up trying to think it through and decided that appeasing it was the only thing he could do. Throwing the comb done, he gave himself one last glance in the mirror and headed towards the bedroom.

Snape was again sitting at the desk, looking no more ruffled that he had that morning, which was to say not at all, but then unless he were dealing with Harry, Snape never looked ruffled. “Is Harry…?”

“In his room. Send him out to take a shower, we’ll eat breakfast when he's finished.” He hadn’t even looked up.

Draco frowned, but didn’t comment further. He still wasn’t sure what he felt about it and until he did, he thought it best to reserve his thoughts to himself. Harry was sitting on the bed when he came in, staring at the wall and deep in thought. For a moment, Draco thought he hadn’t heard him come in, but then Harry looked up at him.

There wasn’t any kind of recrimination in the look, just exhaustion. His clothes were wrinkled, but not nearly so much as they would have been had he slept in them, and his half lidded eyes had large, dark circled under them. Biting his lip, Draco nudged his head towards the door. “You’re to take a shower before breakfast.”

Harry nodded and brushed past him without so much as a ‘good morning’ or ‘how are you?’ Not that Draco had expected one, but it would have been polite. Returning to the living room, he sat on the sofa and tried to wait patiently for the other boy to get out of the shower, which was a very difficult thing to do because his stomach started to make indignant noises and he realized that he hadn’t eaten since tea time the previous day.

However, despite his own minimum twenty minute shower regimen, Harry was out in five, hair still ruffled and wet, glasses steamy, and clothes sticking to parts of him that hadn’t fully dried yet. It was disgraceful, but Draco wasn’t about to complain, because the moment Harry opened the door, Snape summoned an elf and had the food brought down.

After breakfast, which Harry ate remarkable subdued – he didn’t get a single bit of food on himself and refrained from using his toast as a spoon – Snape informed them that they were to do as they liked, but they were not to leave the castle and they would return before nightfall. Harry didn’t even make his customary sour face at the instructions, just nodded and stood up to put his shoes on.

It was all very disconcerting and Draco wasn’t sure what he thought about this new development, either. Harry just simply refused to talk beyond, ‘yes, sir’ and even that in a small, meek-sounding voice. However, since Draco couldn’t quite reconcile how he felt about the situation, he said nothing of what he thought and went about their usual routine of Harry following him around the castle.

A likely looking classroom caught his eye; it had pillows piled in one corner and a podium with a step stool behind it and a bin full of various objects. He went in, not bothering to see if Harry would follow, because he knew he would, and went straight to the bin to see what was in it.

He had just realized that there was nothing of interest in it - only a large amount of feathers, some balls, and a few weightier things like books and goblets - when it occurred to him that the room was dead silent. Usually, Harry would be sighing or making occasional clicking noises while he read, but there was nothing.

Looking out from behind the podium he scanned the room and almost missed Harry, lying curled up among the pillows in the corner. He stood up, fully intending to march over and tell Potter that it was _rude_ to fall asleep when you were supposed to be entertaining a guest, previous evening’s events be damned, when the dark haired boy shifted in the pile restlessly and mumbled something under his breath.

His interest peaked, Draco walked over and sat down next to him, trying to hear what he might be saying. For a long moment he didn’t do anything besides breathe, then he said something that sounded very much like ‘sorry’ and then ‘please.’

Blinking, he scooted closer and leaned down, only to pitch forward, face first into the pillows when Harry’s knee jerked up and into his back. “Bloody hell!”

That was just it! What was it with Harry and his stupid nightmares that made his hit anyone within two feet of him? He was just about to shout at him to wake up, when Harry’s eyes flew open and he sat up.

Draco couldn’t move. Well, he could have, his legs and arms worked, but he had the distinct feeling that with the way he was tangled in the pillows, he’d fall flat on his arse if he tried, so he sat there, waiting for Harry to say something. Instead, he made a half choked noise and fell back, sound asleep.

After several moments of silent, Harry curled back in on himself and his breathing went from fast and strained, to deep and even. Draco looked again at Harry’s overly pale face and sighed. Fine, but only for a few minutes. Laying down as well, he watched the ceiling and listened to Harry breathe.

 

____________________

 

Draco stared down at his plate while he slowly chewed the jam-covered biscuit in his mouth and tried to ignore the crumbs falling onto Harry’s lap. There were only three more days until he could go home and then he would only have the most minimal of time to pack his things and prepare for his first term at Hogwarts.

It was all very exciting and if he weren’t a Malfoy, raised with dignity and poise, he would have been jumping up and down. Of course, some of the joy was brought down by the reminder that Harry would also be attending and that now Draco would have to put up with him for more than just two weeks, but at least he wouldn’t be alone and, if the gods shined down on him, they would not be in the same house.

Snape had joined them that morning, which had become a rare occurrence in the past week and, as was usual when he did, he kept glancing at Harry with both disdain and anxiety. It was enough to make Draco put down his biscuit and pull his hair out. Well, almost. He was very fond of his hair, after all.

They were so unused to seeing Professor Snape at the table that they both nearly jumped out of their respective chairs when he spoke that morning. “Draco, your father will be coming to take you to Diagon Alley to get your school supplies this afternoon. Harry, you will be going with Hagrid. He’ll be ‘round to collect you.”

Harry made a silent ‘oh’ with his mouth, but said nothing. As if it were perfectly normal for the two of them to be going to the same place on the same day with different people. Not that he was complaining, but…

“Severus, why isn’t Potter going with me and father?”

Harry shot him a scathing look and bit harder than necessary into a piece of bacon. Snape scowled at the pieces of meat that fell on the white table clothe before turning to Draco. “I suppose that now is as good a time as any. No one is to know that you and Potter and have been spending time together over the summers.”

Harry mumbled something that distinctly sounded like “as if I’d want them to,” but then went very quiet when Snape glared at him. Of course, Draco was thinking the same thing, he hardly wanted to be publicly associated with a half blood welfare case, but he couldn’t imagine why Harry wouldn’t want to be associated with him.

Snape finished intimidating Harry and went back to explaining the situation. “Your father and Dumbledore feel that it would be in both your best interests if it were kept quiet. You are not to speak of it to your friends and you are to pretend not to know each other when you meet in September.” He turned to Harry.   “Do I make myself clear?”

Draco politely, said “yes, sir,” despite that fact that the question was most obviously pointed at the other boy, who nodded meekly and put down his half eat toast as if it had suddenly gone soggy. Shortly after, Snape seemed to suffer from the same problem and dismissed them, saying that they may do as they like, but that they were to be back in no more than two hours.

The prospect of going to Diagon Alley with his father was enough to make even spending time with Harry seem interesting. He’d only been there with his mother and she always dragged him into the most boring shops looking for clothes or shopping for decorations for the manor. This time he would be with his father and if he behaved himself may even be permitted to go into Knockturn Alley.

Harry seemed more preoccupied with a crack in the wall than listening to what Draco had to say about Diagon Alley and all the interesting shops there were, but then Harry was peculiar on the best of days. They were back in their room long before it was time to go, but Draco wanted to change into his best robes and wash up before his father got there.

“What house do you think you’ll be in?”

Harry blinked and looked up from his book, startled. “I don’t know, really. I haven’t put a lot of thought into it.”

Draco stopped combing his hair. “Haven’t thought about it?” When Harry shrugged, he went back to his hair, mystified that someone could be so entirely casual about his future. “Well, I’ll be in Slytherin.”

Harry rolled his eyes, not bothering to look up this time. “You can’t know that.”

“I can, too. My family has been in Slytherin since Hogwarts was first built, with the exception of very few and very ostracized ancestors. I will be in Slytherin.”

“Then I suppose I know where I won’t be.”

Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“That I’m as different from you as anyone could possible get and besides,” he turned the page and looked up, purposefully making eye contact, “if it does put me in Slytherin, I’ll throw myself off the Astronomy Tower.”

Before Draco could properly express his outrage, Snape interrupted them by opening the door. He looked between the two, Harry sitting on the bed with a book propped on his knees and a very satisfied expression on his face and Draco, sitting on the chair at the desk, a comb in his hand and staring at Potter as if he had grown three very offensive heads.

He couldn’t possibly imagine two boys more ill-suited to be friends. Perhaps if they had managed to get along for more than five minutes at a time, but as it stood… “Draco, your father is waiting by the carriage at the entrance.”

There was a distinct sigh of relief from the Potter brat when Draco put down the comb and left without saying a word. “You are to go to Hagrid’s hut and take no detours. He’d expecting you in five minutes.”

Potter gave the customary “Yes, sir” that had become his only means of communicating with the Potion’s Master over the past week and slid into his shoes, rushing out the door with only the tinge of pink in his cheeks to betray his excitement.

There was something to be said for how little it took to excite Potter and how well he hid it.   The boy could spend hours looking at pictures or playing a one sided game and he seemed perfectly satisfied with it. Of course, one would expect nothing less from a small-minded Potter, but at least it had meant that Snape didn’t have to do any entertaining.   He abhorred entertaining.

He glanced around the room again and noticed the book sitting on the bedside table, face down and open to the page Harry had stopped on. He lifted it up, looking at the cover - ‘The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.’ So, it was muggle, fictional literature. What was Minerva thinking, filling the boy’s head with this nonsense?

He set the book down, closing it and leaving it on the nightstand, then browsed through the other titles shoved into two stacks on the boy’s desk. The savior of the wizarding world was an eleven-year-old that read muggle literature and they were encouraging it. Merlin help them all.

 

**____________________**

 

Draco was incredibly bored. He’d _thought_ going out with his father would be exciting and fun, but it turned out that it was no better than going out with his mother. In fact, it was worse. At least his mother tried to engage him in the decisions; his father seemed perfectly content to have Draco stand next to him and keep his mouth shut the entire time. After nearly four hours, he was more than perfectly happy to go back to Hogwarts with an assortment of his new possessions and spend the next two days flicking his wand about.

Harry, however, had apparently had a wonderful time. Enough so, that when he returned that evening, nearly an hour later than Draco, he was flushed, grinning, and not even Snape’s scowl could dampen his spirits. He actually ate what they ate and with a modicum of decorum, he didn’t complain about having to play games with Draco, and he didn’t so much as scowl when Snape told them to go to bed.

As soon as they were alone, Draco couldn’t hold back his curiosity any longer. “Why are you so… chipper?”

Harry looked up from where he was lying on the bed, looking at his wand. “Hm?”

“Ever since you got back this evening, you’ve been in a good mood. Why?”

Harry shrugged and turned onto his stomach, still looking at the stick of wood in awe. “I’m a wizard.”

Of all the explanations Harry could have given, that was hardly one that Draco had expected. “You live in bloody Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Potter, of course you’re a wizard.”

Harry just smiled and crossed his ankles in the air. “It’s different, is all; I have a wand and school books and an owl and she’s all white and lovely and it’s…” but he trailed off and didn’t finish and Draco was too put off by his cheeriness to ask him to continue.

Sliding his wand under the pillow, Harry took his book off the nightstand and frowned at it for a moment before flipping through it to find his page. Stupid Potter. Why did he have to be so cheerful and for no good reason? It was absurd.

Draco pulled one of his texts out of the bag and sat at the desk, opening it to the first page and beginning to read. It wasn’t very interesting, but he hadn’t thought it would be. Whatever Potter had been reading, however, must have been more boring than History of Magic, because when Draco finally closed the book and looked up, the other boy was sound asleep.

Setting his book aside, the blond boy stared intently at Harry. The clock said it was ‘well past bed time’ and he hadn’t been able to hear anything in from beyond their door for nearly an hour. Slowly, he got up from the desk and went into the living room.   Snape’s door was closed and the lights were off. He must have gone to bed. Well, that settled it. He wasn’t at all tired and there was nothing for him to do and no one for him to talk to.

Sitting on the sofa, he looked around the dark room. It was eerie in here at night. He scanned Snape’s desk and saw that his chair was pushed away from it, as if he’d left in a huff.   Perhaps something had frustrated him. It was too dark to even see the titles of the books on the shelves, but there was one book, open on the mantle.

Looking at Snape’s door again, just to ensure that he hadn’t woken up, Draco went to the fireplace and picked it up, walking close enough to his and Harry’s room so that he could just read the pages. For some odd reason, Snape was reading about potions that were used to control portions of the brain responsible for outbursts of emotion. He hadn’t even know there were parts of the brain designated for that purpose.

He was setting the book back where he had found it, carefully making sure that it was in the exact same position, when something caught his eye. It was the gargoyle that Snape had used to open his storeroom and its eyes were flashing in the half-light of the open door to Draco’s right. Reaching out, he touched it lightly then experimentally wrapped his fingers around its head and twisted it.

To be honest, he hadn’t expected it to work. His father had always put passwords on everything at the manor. It was impossible to so much as go to the loo if you didn’t know what to say to the door. Snape, it turned out, did not have the same suspicious nature. Either that, or he’d become very comfortable living alone over the years and did not expect his summer guests to be sneaking into his private potions store.

As the bottom of the case grated against the stone, Draco cringed and considered running to hide in the bedroom, but Snape would know it was one of them and Harry was probably drooling all over his pillow by now. Standing next to the now open bookcase, he waited to be told off for being out of bed after hours and for touching things he knew he shouldn’t be touching.

Five minute later, he was beginning to think Snape had slept through it. Another few minutes and it wasn’t so much a thought as it was a theory and he crept up to Snape’s door, listening intently for the sounds of movement. There was nothing, not even breathing.

Getting up what little courage he possessed, he cracked open the door and peaked inside.   It was empty. He choked back a surprised noise and opened it wider, slipping inside to get a better look. Snape wasn’t there and his bed hadn’t even been slept it. Backing out, he closed the door quietly and shifted his eyes between the open storeroom and the open door to the bedroom.

Well, if Harry hadn’t woken up and Snape wasn’t there, he didn’t imagine a little peak would hurt anything. He pushed the shelf back further, letting more light in and the stepped inside. He’d never seen a room so thoroughly crammed full with jars of ingredients. He’d never even imagined there were so many ingredients to cram into one room.

He ran his finger over one of the labels and pulled out his wand. It took several tries, but eventually, he managed a weak ‘lumos.’   It was somewhat disappointing, as his father’s would have lit up the entire room with blinding light, but he had the rest of the summer to practice.

Hm… dried nettles, mandrake, puffer-fish eyes; all were fairly common, so Draco turned around and began to scan the other wall. Jobberknoll feather, unicorn’s blood, dragon’s whiskers… he stopped. A Dragon’s whisker had been one of the ingredients in _Ignisefflo_.

Taking down the jar, Draco opened it and looked inside. Not very many there, perhaps twelve or so. He tried to recall the other ingredients needed, ginger root sprang to mind and stewed horned slugs. In fact, if he remembered correctly, the only thing he’d need that he didn’t have on hand at home was dragon’s whiskers.

Well, there were twelve and it wasn’t likely that one would be missed anytime soon, if at all.   Opening the jar, he pulled one out and screwed the lid back on. After making sure that everything looks as it had earlier, he left the dark little room and turned the gargoyle’s head, watching the door slid noiselessly into place before heading to bed.

 

**____________________**

 

Despite Harry’s persistently good mood, his nightmares were worse that evening. After Draco had put the whisker into a pocket in his trunk and laid down, he’d been forced to listen to the other boy pant and twist in his sleep, occasionally throwing out an arm or kicking a leg. It had been all Draco could do to fall asleep, let alone stay that way.

By the time morning came, neither boy looked particularly well rested. Snape seemed to be watching them carefully as they ate their breakfast lethargically, both wearing identical dark circles under each eye. Draco scowled down at his runny eggs. Usually, he liked runny eggs; today they made him feel slightly nauseous.

After twenty minutes of sitting at the table in eerie silence, he was surprised when Snape spoke up. “You both look rather peaked.”

Harry scrunched his eyebrows together, obviously confused by the terminology, but didn’t ask what it meant. Draco shrugged,   “Potter’s nightmares have been keep me up, sir.”

“Nightmares, Potter?”

Harry flushed, “They’re not that bad.”

“Says you. I’m the one who has to listen to you talk in your sleep and get beaten because you can’t seem to sit still.”

The flush became slightly paler and Harry opened his mouth to defend himself, but was cut off by Snape. “Why did you not tell me?”

Harry looked at his plate. “I’m asleep at the time, Professor, I hadn’t realized they’d gotten that bad.”

“Clearly they have. You’ll be taking a sleeping drought tonight, before you make yourself ill. And you will both stay here and rest today.” Draco was about to complain, when it occurred to him that he didn’t particularly feel like going out anyway. He’d do just as well to sit back and play a game as run about the castle aimlessly.

When they’d finished, Harry asked that he be excused to take a nap and Draco couldn’t have thought of a better thing to do with his time. However, seeing as he didn’t fancy being woken up again, he went to the couch instead and laid back, staring at the ceiling and listening to the rustle of pages as Snape flipped through another manual.

It seemed absolutely ridiculous, the amount of research the man did. It was as if he had nothing better to do with his time. Flipping onto his stomach, he propped himself up on his elbows, watching the Potion’s Master leer over the book.

“What are you doing?”

Snape’s mouth twitched. “Research.”

“On what?”

He half turned, looking at him out of one eye. “Lycanthropy.”

“Why?”

He turned fully around this time. “I am attempting to develop a cure, or something similar.”

Draco remembered the lecture his father had given him the previous year when he’d tried to sneak out of the Manor on a full moon. “Haven’t they already tried to find a cure? I thought it wasn’t possible.”

“Lycanthropy is merely a curse, and every curse has its counter-curse. It’s simply a matter of finding it.”

“Not every curse. Father says that Avada Kedavra doesn’t have one.”

Snape’s face quickly became a blank mask. “You should not speak about that curse with anyone, especially when connected with your father.”

It seemed an odd thing to say, but Draco shrugged it off. “I can’t imagine why you’d want to look for a cure for them anyway.   They’re just animals. Father says they’d be better off put down.”

“Indeed.”

Snape looked down at the text once more before getting up and heading towards the fireplace. For a moment, Draco’s blood froze, but he forced himself not to react. Whatever Snape was doing it couldn’t have to do with dragon’s whiskers and it wasn’t as if, with all those ingredients, that he went through them every single day.

The shelf opened and Draco bit his lip, looking down at the sofa purposefully. He’d just managed to convince himself that he’d gotten away with it when he heard Snape yell, “Potter!”

Or perhaps not.

Draco sat up in time to see Snape slam open the bedroom door and march inside, returning shortly with a half asleep Harry, dragging him by his ear. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“What?”

Snape let go of the ear and grabbed Harry’s arms, shaking him roughly. “Did. you. think. I would not. notice?”

Harry’s eyes flitted to the open shelf hesitantly. “Notice what?”

Snape’s hands tightened, his fingers digging painfully into Harry’s arms, but Harry didn’t look as if he were about to complain about that. “Dragon’s whiskers are both rare and dangerous when not used correctly. I’ve no idea what your addled brain thinks you could possible do with one, but if you do not return it this instant, so help me you are going in there and not coming out until term starts!”

Harry paled, “I don’t understand, I…”

“Allow me to make it perfectly clear. Yesterday afternoon, there were fourteen dragon’s whiskers in my storeroom, this morning there are thirteen. And don’t bother trying to imply I cannot count; there is a book that keeps record of every ingredient taken and in what quantity, and last night someone went into my storeroom and took a dragon’s whisker. Is that clear enough for you?”

Harry winched as the fingers tightened again and he turned his head to Draco.   If Snape could have seen him, the flinch would have been unmistakable. “Sir, I didn’t take it, Malfoy…”

His teeth jarred together as Snape yanked him towards the storeroom. “Is not an idiot, Potter. I assure you that, unlike yourself, Draco is not fool headed enough to steal something so volatile. You, however, seem to have the survival instincts of a lemming.” He shoved Harry into the storeroom and glared at him. “You had better come to your sense and tell me where it is before I find it.”

Draco sat where he was, petrified, as the shelf closed and Snape went back to his desk, seething.   There was a small part of him that felt guilty for having gotten Harry in so much trouble, but he was far more concerned about getting that whisker out of his trunk before Snape began to look.

Taking a steadying breath, he turned to Snape, trying to look at least moderately concerned. “Are you all right, sir?”

Snape looked up, obviously still enraged, but in control of himself at the very least.   “Yes, Draco, however I don’t believe I’m in the best mood for company at the moment. Why don’t go and you see what you can find to do in your room?”

It should have been insulting, really, but Draco was too caught up in the idea that he’d be able to move the evidence without suspicion. Nodding to Snape, Draco went into the bedroom and closed the door lightly before opening his trunk and taking out the whisker. He looked around and his eyes settled on Harry’s desk drawer. Not the most inventive of hiding places, but Snape didn’t seem apt to give Harry much credit for anything, let alone stealth.

Wrapping it in a white handkerchief he’d found, he placed it in the very back of the drawer and closed it, then went to the bed and laid down, taking the book Harry had been reading for the past few days and opening it to a random page. Perhaps he’d make it up to him later by giving him some of the candy that his mother had sent him.

For a moment, he flashed on Harry’s accusing face when he’d looked at him in the living room and he nestling further into the pillows, trying to ignore the fact that he somehow didn’t think candy was going to make everything all right with Harry. Not that he really even understood why he cared in the first place.

**____________________**

 

Twelve hours. Draco hadn’t thought anyone had it in them to purposefully lock someone in a dark, confined closet for twelve hours, but apparently, he’d been wrong. And he couldn’t imagine that Snape had forgotten this time, because every so often he’d go to the shelf and, without opening it, ask Harry where the whisker was.

At first, Harry had insisted that he hadn’t done it, but after four hours, he’d started naming off random places, like in his pillowcase, or the pocket of his school robe, or under the lamp on his table. Eventually, Harry had either run out of places or become bored with it, because he’d stopped talking all together and shortly after that Snape had given up asking and searched the room, finding it in the third place he’d looked.

Since then, Harry had refused to talk to Draco, even when Snape had expressly told him to and Draco had become more sure than ever that sweets weren’t going to cut it. He thought that perhaps he should apologize, but his father had always told him that Malfoys don’t expressly apologize. They were allowed to imply it with actions, but never to say it because Malfoys were never actually wrong.

Standing next to Harry outside the entrance while they waited for his father’s carriage to pull up, Draco still had yet to come up with something he could do that would imply he was sorry. He also hadn’t come up with how he was going to explain to his father why Harry wasn’t speaking to him, because the closer the carriage drew, the more Draco was reminded of his father’s warning about making friends with Harry.

Harry looked at Draco from the corner of his eye and thought he saw worry etched on the pale face as his father stepped out. Mr. Malfoy looked at Draco, putting a hand on his shoulder before turning his attention to Snape. “Good afternoon, Severus.”

Oh, not this again. What was the point of dragging him out here if all they were going to do was discuss how they were doing?

“I’m fine, Lucius, yourself?”

“Surprisingly well, all things considered. Did the boy’s behave themselves this summer?”

Harry saw the hand tighten on Draco’s shoulder and frowned. He’d done that at the beginning of the summer, as well, when he was telling them to have fun. Harry looked from the overly tense smile of Mr. Malfoy’s lips, to Draco’s half cringing face and he suddenly thought he knew what was going on. Draco was supposed to be getting on with him, not being an annoying prat, or purposefully getting him into trouble and if he wanted to get even with him he could, because Lucius Malfoy did not look to him like the sort of person who’d appreciate disobedience.

All he had to say was the truth; that he thought Draco was a prat. Snape would probably punish him for it, but there wasn’t much he could do, as Professor McGonagall was due back that afternoon.

Snape scowled down at Harry. “As always, Lucius, your son was impeccable. The same, however, cannot be said for Mr. Potter.”

Mr. Malfoy’s grip tightened again, just slightly, not even enough to be painful, but enough to let Harry know that he suspected. It would only take one sentence and it wouldn’t even be a lie.

As Mr. Malfoy looked down at him, however, and he saw the growing dread on Draco’s face, he realized that he couldn’t do it. It didn’t matter that it was the truth. It didn’t matter that Draco had earned whatever it was he got; Harry just couldn’t do it. Damnit it all to hell, Professor McGonagall was probably right, he would it end up in Gryffindor.

“Boys will be boys, Severus. Did you enjoy your summer, Harry?”

“Of course, Mr. Malfoy. It was nice to have company.” He could have bitten his own tongue off if he weren’t so busy smiling as sincerely as he could manage.

Draco stared at him in absolute shock, while Mr. Malfoy looked surprised, but pleased. “Well, then, perhaps next summer we can arrange for him to stay longer. Come along, Draco.”

Oh, just brilliant.

Harry continued to force the smile until the carriage was halfway down the path. Dropping it, he turned around and began to walk back into the castle.   Snape put a hand on his arm and he stopped, closing to eyes to keep from shouting that he didn’t want the man touching him.

“Admirable, Potter. Foolish, but admirable.”

Before Harry could look back to ask what he meant, Snape had already walked past him and into the castle. Had he known that Harry was lying? He had to have, it wasn’t as if they kept their animosity a secret from him, but to say that it was admirable of Harry not to tell on Draco? Whatever punishment the other boy would face for failing must have been a rather severe one to make Snape say that.

He looked at the retreating imagine of the black carriage and sighed. It was going to be a long school year.


	4. Summer 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted in 2004.

Draco could not believe he was sitting in the carriage, once again on his way to spending not two weeks, but one month with that insufferable Potter.   He shifted in the seat and winced, for that matter, he couldn’t believe he was sitting at all.

Thanks to Harry, he hadn’t been punished when he’d returned home before school and he’d found himself grudgingly grateful because one word from Potter and he wouldn’t have been able to sit properly for several weeks.  However, when he’d tried to show that gratitude by offering Harry a hand in friendship and keeping him from making one of the largest social mistakes possible, he’d been turned down. No, he’d been turned down and insulted and then Potter had shown him up in flying lessons and gotten on the Quidditch team. It was humiliating!

To make matters worse, when he’d tried to get a minimal amount of revenge for it, he’d been given detention as well, meaning his father had found out about them not getting along. During Christmas vacation he had been punished for both lying _and_ failing to secure Potter’s friendship and told that their petty rivalry had better be settled by the end of the coming summer. He doubted he could have managed that, even if he’d wanted to.

So, after an entire school year of watching the bloody Boy-Who-Lived shy around corridors with his friends, win at Quidditch, and stop the Dark Lord from rising via his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher Draco had told his father that he was not going to spend any more time with that uppity little orphan. And Lucius had replied, in no uncertain terms, that he would go, that he would play nice, and that he would, at the very least, ensure that Potter did not hate him, because Potter was the sort of person that would trust Draco if he asked, owing only to the fact that they had known each other for so long; then he had caned him the day before taking him to Hogwarts, just to ensure that he didn’t forget.

“If you do not quit pouting this instant, Draco, I will have this carriage pulled over and I will give you another reminder. And sit still.”

He forced his face blank, looking out the window and gritting his teeth against the burning in his backside. It wasn’t fair. He watched the grass pass by as he lamented the loss of his summer holiday.

____________________

 

When Professor McGonagall had returned the previous summer Harry had tried to pretend that nothing was wrong. He’d tried to smile and to be enthusiastic about starting school, but he just couldn’t manage to keep it up when he couldn’t get an entire night’s sleep without dreams of being in a room with walls that pressed in on him and no doors. Eventually, he’d been forced to tell her about the storeroom incident, making sure to emphasize that he hadn’t actually stolen anything, because he didn’t think he could stand for her to hate him.

She’d immediately ushered him to Dumbledore and made him retell it, which he’d been reluctant to do, because Dumbledore hating him was a hundred times worse than her hating him. Dumbledore, however, had not been upset with him, nor had he believed Harry had stolen anything. In fact, he’d told him that Snape would be getting a stern lecture on appropriate means of discipline.  At the time, Harry hadn’t cared what that meant, because school was only days from starting and the false excitement had been quickly becoming real.

The school year had been nothing short of brilliant (assuming he ignored the fact that he’d been forced to spend time with Snape on a regular basis and that he’d had to face Voldemort and nearly been killed).  Dumbledore had insisted that he take the train with the rest of the students and had had Hagrid drop him off at the station.   Harry’d been terrified he’d bullocks it up; especially when he couldn’t find the platform, but he’d spotted the twins and it turned out they did not get their mischievous streak from their mother, who had been more than willing to help Harry find his way.

While Fred and George had been off scavenging for Merlin only knew what, Harry had talked to their youngest brother Ron and made his first real friend. He’d always been aware at Hogwarts that he was The-Boy-Who-Lived, but the older students had always treated him as more of an adorable doll, than someone to be looked at in awe and he rarely went outside of the school. At the train station, he’d gotten his first taste of what it was like to really be a celebrity and he’d hated it. Ron had been the first person to look at him as an equal.

Of course, Malfoy had barged in and nearly ruined it, making fun of Ron and then offering Harry his hand in friendship as if it were some sort of a prize. Harry, however, was still suffering from vivid nightmares and wasn’t feeling nearly as generous has he had a week earlier. He’d turned it down and made it clear that he didn’t want to be anywhere that Malfoy was.

The sorting ceremony had been… disconcerting. The hat seemed to think Harry should be in Slytherin, but Harry would have taken anything else. He’d rather have been a Ravenclaw and been forced to study day and night than be in the same house as Draco Malfoy. Instead of Slytherin or Ravenclaw, however, he’d ended up in Gryffindor, which was predictable, but pleased Professor McGonagall to no end and Ron and his brothers were there, so he didn’t imagine it was too bad.

Apparently, Malfoy had had it out for him after that, for whatever reason. He’d tried to get him in trouble during their first flying lesson, but had only managed to get him on the Quidditch team. He’d tried to get him in trouble with Professor McGonagall for sneaking out by challenging him to a duel, but he’d managed to get away by the skin of his teeth. He’d found out about Norbert (Hagrid’s would-be pet dragon) and tried to get him in trouble when he snuck out to help Hagrid, but had only landed himself in detention as well.

Malfoy, Harry decided, was a great bugger-it-all mystery, because try as he might to ignore him, and no matter how many times the prat got himself into trouble or failed to get Harry in trouble, he just kept trying. By the end of the school year, Harry wasn’t sure what he was going to miss more, his friends or Malfoy’s ever-annoying attempts to get him into trouble. Or, at least, he wasn’t sure until he remembered that Malfoy would be returning very shortly and, according to Dumbledore, for a longer stint.

Sitting at the table across from Snape for their last meal alone before Malfoy arrived, Harry was filled with a growing sense of dread. The Potion’s Master was always more volatile and likely to punish Harry after Malfoy arrived and while Snape may not have noticed the pattern, Harry certainly had - while they were alone he was more likely to be ordered around, but less likely to be yelled at, hit, or locked up for imaginary offenses.

Deciding that he’d officially lost his appetite, he tried not to sigh. Sighing annoyed Snape and he’d managed an entire month without incident, but he got the sinking feeling that was about to change. A pop startled Harry and he was thankful that he’d already put his spoon down or he might have splashed tomato basil everywhere.

“Mister Snape, sir, I is coming to tell you that the Malfoy carriage is approaching.”

Snape sneered, putting his napkin on the table. “They’ve arrived early. Tibby clear the table. Harry, you are to come with me.”

As if there had been any question about that, as if he hadn’t already gotten up and was slipping his shoes on. He followed Snape out the door and through the dungeons sullenly. It was a beautiful day outside and Harry squinted past the approaching carriage to Hagrid’s cabin.

Dumbledore’s talk with Snape had meant that the rules had once again changed for the summer. Harry was permitted outside, but he had to tell Snape where he intended to go first and he had to be back before nightfall. It had been a good thing, too, because Harry had wanted more than anything to practice flying and since he was now officially a student, McGonagall had said that he could. Snape had grumbled something about house favoritism and it was a good thing that another rule had been that Harry was supposed to bite his tongue if he had the urge to talk back because there were more than a few things he’d like to say to Snape about ‘house favoritism.’

When Draco stepped out of the carriage after his father, Harry noted the stiffness in his posture, but didn’t think anymore about it, because Mr. Malfoy was already starting the litany of proper behavior and he’d be damned if he was going to sit around to watch it this time.

“Good morning, Severus. Mr. Potter.”

Before Snape could get a word off, Harry interjected, “Right, good afternoon to you as well. Professor, me and Draco are going to the Quidditch Pitch.”

He didn’t wait for a response, because Snape could possible say no and he didn’t want that. Instead, he grabbed Draco’s hand and dragged him away, ignoring the protests and half muffled yelps as they marched across the grounds. As soon as they’d rounded a corner and were out of site of the two adults, Harry stopped and sighed.

Draco leaned on his arms against a wall, looking at Harry as if he thought he’d lost his mind. “Have you gone insane, Potter?” Apparently, he did.   “You… you ignored all predicate and just ran off. That’s… rude!”

Harry couldn’t help laughing at the constipated look on Draco’s face.   “Maybe, but I didn’t fancy listening to another round of ‘how’s the weather’ between your father and Professor Snape.   It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Of course it makes you uncomfortable. It’s meant to.”

Harry couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so he ignored it, leaning against the wall instead while Draco watched him cautiously out of the corner of his eye. When Harry didn’t say anything, Draco seemed to get annoyed and resorted to sneering. “So, did you mean it when you said you wanted to go flying?”

“Did you bring your broom?” Harry felt a little satisfaction as Malfoy’s sneer deepened.

“Of course I did, but it’s probably in the room by now and unless you want to explain to Snape why you were so impolite, we can’t go back and get it.”

The idea of leaving Malfoy to wait in the stands while he practiced was satisfying, but he had promised Dumbledore that, while he was no longer obligated to follow his guest around like a puppy dog, he could not be purposefully mean. Harry shrugged and walked towards the Quidditch pitch. “It doesn’t matter, you can use one of the school brooms; mine’s in the shed, anyway.”

Malfoy caught up to him and leered down, still a good deal taller than Harry. “I thought you couldn’t get into the shed.”

“I can now.”

Without saying anything else, Harry turned around and walked towards the field, Malfoy trudging behind him. It was strange, but he looked rather stiff. Harry slowed down, so that they were walking side by side and watched the other boy discreetly. With every step his face seemed to give a stifled flinch and it was obvious that he was gritting his teeth. Something about it was familiar and it nagged at the back of Harry’s mind.   Despite the fact that they did not get along, he found himself concerned that something was really wrong.

“Malfoy, are you alright?”

Malfoy looked at him sharply. “I’m fine, Potter, leave it.”

Harry didn’t think he looked ‘fine,’ especially when he tried to sit on a bench while Harry opened the shed to get out the brooms. It wasn’t until Malfoy tried to sit on the broom that Harry finally remembered what it reminded him of. Uncle Vernon had never been particularly keen on physical punishment, probably because it was too likely to be noticed and it meant he had to touch Harry, but on occasion, when something truly peculiar had happened that he wanted to blame on his nephew, he had taken a belt to Harry’s backside. The way that Malfoy was standing and trying very hard not to put pressure on his bum reminded Harry of himself after one of Uncle Vernon’s spankings.

His first instinct was to point it out, because he doubted that Malfoy would miss a chance to rub anything in Harry’s face, but he had to give the blonde prat credit for his relatively straight face. Malfoy’s mask slipped for a moment when the broom began hovering and Harry winced sympathetically.

“We don’t have to fly.” Damn his Gryffindor nature all to hell, this was going to get him into so much trouble.   “In fact, I’ve changed my mind.”

Malfoy eyed him suspiciously and Harry tried his best to keep his cheeks from turning pink. After a moment, Malfoy looked away and got off the broom, holding it out to Harry. “Fine, you have something else in mind, then?”

____________________

 

Malfoy was staring so hard at Harry’s back that Harry was having trouble concentrating on the task at hand. He had been living at Hogwarts for several years and he’d spent a great deal of that time in the infirmary. He could easily figure this out, if only Malfoy would shut his bloody mouth for five seconds and let him think.

“You’re breaking into the infirmary?” When Harry didn’t answer, he sighed, watching the wand movements over the door. “What are you doing, anyway?”

Looking at Malfoy irritably, Harry bit his tongue to keep from saying that he was trying to ignore him. “It’s a little more complicated than Alohamora. If that’s all any student had to do to get in here, half the population would be addicted to potions. Madame Pomfrey’s tricky.”

“Tricky? What, that old bat?   Her password is probably something like ‘get well.’”

Harry clenched his fist tighter around his wand. It took a great deal of effort not to deck Malfoy for that. He happened to like Madame Pomfrey a great deal. Sure, she was stern, and she shoved unpleasant things down his throat when he was sick, but there had been plenty of times when he’d been helping out in the Hospital Wing and she’d slipped him sweets that McGonagall would not have approved of.

“She isn’t an old bat, Malfoy.” He muttered ‘get well,’ pointing his wand at an inconspicuous looking leaf to the right of the handle and the door sprung open. Harry closed his eyes, trying to ignore Malfoy’s chuckling next to him. Sticking his head in, he looked around the large, dark room. “Hello?”

Malfoy pushed him inside and he stumbled, turning around to ask what the hell he was doing, but Malfoy had already stepped in after him and was closing the door. “Really, Potter, stealth just isn’t your trademark, is it?   You break into a locked room and then hang your arse out the door for anyone to see?”

Harry flushed, thinking about the many times he’d managed to sneak out during the school year without getting caught. Of course, he’d had his invisible cloak with him, which was currently at the very bottom of his trunk where he hoped Malfoy wouldn’t find it.

“Whatever, Malfoy.” It wasn’t the snappiest comeback, but he couldn’t help the feeling that Malfoy was probably right. When Malfoy did nothing more than cross his arms over his chest and raise his eyebrows expectantly, Harry decided to drop it and do what he’d come there to do.

He went to the medicine cupboard, put the tip of his wand to the locking mechanism and muttered the password, twisting his wand like a key and then leaning back to let it open. He could feel Malfoy watching him as he rummaged around, “What are you looking for?”

“A numbing cream. I know she’s well stocked and it’s pretty harmless, so I don’t think she’d keep it in the warded cupboard, but… ahha!” Harry’s fingers wrapped around the familiar, clear bottle, half full with a slimy looking green lotion.   He unscrewed the top and sniffed, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Yeah, that’s it all right.”

Malfoy’s face had gone very white and Harry stopped moving. “What?”

“What did you want that for, Potter?” His voice was defensive and Harry looked down, trying to think up a good lie.

The problem was, Harry wasn’t very good at lying and he knew that. With a defeated sigh, he tossed it to Malfoy, watching him fumble to catch it. “Because, Malfoy, I’ve been there. Bathroom’s around the corner, I’ll wait here.”

Malfoy’s expression was a strange mix of embarrassment, gratitude, and annoyance.   “This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

Harry couldn’t imagine what Malfoy was talking about. He hadn’t done anything that needed forgiveness. He shrugging, “Just use the bloody cream so we can go flying.”

After a few more seconds of intense sneering, Malfoy marched past him and into the bathroom, nearly knocking him off the countertop. Harry, who had been biting his tongue to keep from saying anything that could be construed as rude, tasted blood as he straightened up and heard the lock click on the bathroom door.

It was absolutely mind-boggling to him that one person could be so completely impossible. He was only trying to help and what did he get? Insulted and knocked around. When Malfoy emerged five minutes later, he didn’t look nearly as uncomfortable as he had walking in.

He handed Harry the cream and Harry made an effort to put it back where he’d found it. Not that it mattered, because while he may have watched her unlock the cabinet many times, he’d never seen her lock it and she was going to know the minute she came back that he had been in her cabinet. Stupid Malfoy.

They headed towards the Quidditch pitch, walking at a much faster rate this time with Malfoy looking putout about the whole thing. Harry wasn’t sure why he was upset. Hadn’t he told him that the same thing happened to him? Didn’t that make it even? Malfoy shoved his hands in his pockets and his brows furrowed deeper.

Stopping, Harry waited for Malfoy to notice and turn around. “Look, I’m not sure what’s wrong with you, but we have to spend the next month together. Not two weeks, a month. I, personally, do not fancy the idea of spending it watching you sulk.”

Malfoy had the good grace to look taken aback. “I am not sulking!”

“Oh, you are to! I don’t have to be nice to you, Malfoy, and I certainly didn’t have to risk getting into trouble because you had a sore arse.”

Malfoy growled, which about all the warning he had before a fist launched at his face.   Harry fell back, looking up at Malfoy for a moment in shock while he felt blood trickle from his lip.

Oh, that was it! He launched himself at Malfoy, grabbing him around the knees and tackling him onto the ground. If he wanted a fight, he was going to get one.

 

____________________

 

“Feel better?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“… Do you feel better?”

“Yes.”

“Wanker.”

“Prat.”

They went back to glaring wordlessly at each other.

The fight had only lasted five minutes, not because they ran out of energy, or weren’t angry anymore, but because Snape had pulled them forcibly apart, yelling at them for acting like common muggle ruffians. Harry still wasn’t sure what upset Snape more, that they’d been fighting, or that they’d been doing it with fists. When the professor had been sure they weren’t going to jump on each other the moment he turned his back he’d marched them to the infirmary and left them sitting on separate beds while he searched for a mild healing potion. Harry could have told him where it was, but he didn’t think Snape was in the mood to hear his voice at the moment.

No matter how quiet Harry stayed, however, he knew it wasn’t going to help him, because Snape being in the infirmary was a bad thing, especially when he saw… “Would one of you mind explaining why the medicine cabinet is open?” …that.

Harry sighed. It didn’t even matter that he _had_ done it this time, because Snape would have blamed it on him anyway and Harry didn’t have it in himself to explain that he’d only done it because Malfoy was hurt. Before he could open his mouth to give some horrible excuse about having scraped his knee, or perhaps a nagging paper cut, Malfoy stepped in.

“I’m sorry, sir, that was me. I was… not feeling well and I didn’t want to be a bother to you, so I asked Potter to get it for me.” Harry stared, open-mouthed. Had Malfoy just taken the blame for him?

Snape stared at Malfoy for several moments before turning to look at Harry. “Simply because you have assisted Madame Pomfrey on several occasions does not qualify you to diagnose another student. If Draco is not feeling well, you should have brought him to me instead of assuming that you knew how best to treat him.”

“I’m not his bloody keeper.” Oh, damn! Harry bit his tongue.   Hard. _Ow, ow, ow_. Better than saying anything else, though, because Snape’s lips were pursed together in a hard, thin line. “I mean… yes, sir. Of course.”

Snape narrowed his eyes dangerously, before unscrewing the lid to the small vial of potion he’d brought in and carefully pouring it into a small spoon.   For some inexplicable reason, Harry knew that he could go an entire year without getting into one ounce of trouble, without back-talking a single professor, or breaking one rule, but the moment he was alone with this man, his survival instincts fled and it was all he could do to keep from telling Snape exactly what he thought of him.

Harry opened his mouth and grimaced as the spoon and its sour tasting contents were shoved unceremoniously into his mouth, clicking painfully against his teeth. He watched resentfully as Snape gently tilted the spoon into Draco’s mouth a moment later, sliding the potion onto his tongue. He saw the blond watching him out of one gray eye and then purposefully looked away.

On second thought, it wasn’t just Snape, because for the past few weeks he’d handled Snape fairly well. In fact, right up until that very day, he’d had no problems. A few snide remarks, perhaps, but nothing that had gotten him yelled at, lectured, or grounded in any way. It seemed that his problem was Draco bloody Malfoy and his prattish behavior and the fact that Snape refused to see that until Malfoy arrived, Harry was always on best behavior.

An unpleasant crawling sensation spread across his face and into his torso as the potion took affect, kneading the sore muscles. It wouldn’t help much with the bruising, but at least he’d be able to see properly out of his eye. Snape finished glaring at Harry and crossed his arms over his chest, turning to Draco. “And you, Draco, should know better than to act like a common muggleborn. You are a Malfoy and as such, certain behaviors are unacceptable. Fist fighting is one of them.   Just be thankful your father had already departed.”

Draco pouted, but said nothing more than, “Yes, sir,” before hanging his head.

Harry wished that was all he had to do in order to get out of trouble, but even before Snape spoke, he knew what he was going to say. “As you should be. Harry, you’re grounded for two days. Set one foot outside of my chambers in that time and it will be a week. Am I clear?

As much as he dearly wanted to complain, Harry had promised Dumbledore, so he nodded mutely and held in a sigh. Snape’s scowl deepened, as if Harry’s acquiescence only succeeded in angering him further. “Go now, both of you. I will be reinforcing the locks on the cabinet, in case Mr. Potter decides to play healer again.”

Harry marched out, muttering under his breath that he wasn’t trying to ‘play healer,’ although to be honest, he wasn’t really sure because he didn’t know what ‘playing healer’ entailed. Draco snickered and followed close behind. Once their hushed voices could no longer be heard, Snape let out a sigh and pinched his nose between his fingers, shaking his head.

Despite acclamations otherwise, he knew very well what Potter and his do-gooder Gryffindor intentions had been doing. Had the boy simply waiting, instead of jaunting off with Malfoy in tow at the first possible moment, Snape would have been able to administer a potion that would have sped the healing process as well as numbing the pain. Now, he’d have to wait for the lotion to wear off, which, due to Potter’s impeccable timing, would probably be at around two in the morning.

He turned around and pulled out his wand to lock the cabinet.   Of all the things he was suited for, Severus Snape was sure that child rearing was not one of them. He had no patience, a quick temper, and he simply could not abide children with no manners and a lack of respect for their superiors. He sighed heavily.  If this were going to last an entire month… he needed to brew more calming draught.

 

____________________

 

Harry tried desperately to ignore Draco as they walked away from the infirmary and towards the dungeons.

“Ickly Potter wanna play healer again?”

“Stuff it, Malfoy.”

“What, embarrassed?”

“I’m not embarrassed.” He clenched his fists and kept walking. “I wasn’t trying to be a healer, anyway, I was only trying to help you, which was apparently a mistake and next time I… what?!” Draco had stopped walking and was staring at him, wide eyed. Harry's cheeks threatened to heat up.

After a moment, Draco blinked. “You… you don’t know what playing healer is.”

Even though Malfoy had been dead on, or perhaps because of that, Harry felt the insane urge to deny it. “I do too.”

“What is it then?”

“I…” Harry blushed. “Fine, I don’t know, but I bet you don’t, either.”

Draco smirked. “It’s what boys do to get girls to take off their knickers.”

Take off their knickers? What was Draco talking about? After a moment, Harry’s curiosity got the better of him. “Why would they want to do that?”

“Why would they…” Draco trailed off, the smirk dying on his face. “You’re serious. You’ve never been curious about what’s under a girl’s skirt?”

He’d seen some of the older boys trying to do that, but hadn’t really put any thought into why. Giving Draco a sour look, he turned around and began to walk towards the dungeon again.

“Potter!” Draco caught up with him. “Potter, are you serious?”

Harry tried to speed up, but Draco grabbed him by his wrist.   “What? Fine! I don’t understand what you mean by playing healer and I don’t understand why anyone would want to look up a girl’s skirt. Is that what you wanted?”

Draco grinned and Harry thought that it looked like a particularly wicked sort of grin. “Maybe. Come on.”

Before he could protest, Harry found himself being dragged down the stairs and through the dungeon. Draco didn’t stop until they were in the bedroom and the door was locked behind them.   “Draco, what are you up to?”

“Shut up, Potter, and sit on the bed.”

As much as Harry wanted to tell him where he could take his bloody commands, he was grounded and he didn’t have anywhere else to really go that Draco couldn’t easily follow if he wanted to. Sitting down, he watched as Draco pulled out the desk chair and sat on it, eagerness shining in his eyes.

After several moments of eerie silence, Harry couldn’t stand it any longer. “Well?”

Draco continued to grin. “You do know that boys and girls are different, right?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Of course, that’s why they’re called girls.”

“So, how are they different?”

Harry’s mouth twitched in annoyance. “Girls are… girls.” He thought back to the previous conversation. “They don’t have a… thing.”

Draco snickered. “You mean penis.”

With a blush, Harry nodded. “Yeah, they have something else.”

“What?”

Blushing still deeper, Harry didn’t bother to answer, because in all truth, he didn’t know. When he was six, he’d overheard his Aunt Petunia telling Dudley something about ‘a garden,’ but that had seemed a bit silly, even then. Biting his lip petulantly, he decided to go on the offensive. “You tell me, since you seem to know so much.”

Draco stopped smiling, taken aback by Harry’s accusing tone.   “I do! It’s called a vagina.”

Harry’s face went blank. “Vagina? That sounds like… a disease or something.” He couldn’t even begin to imagine what something called a ‘vagina’ looked like and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Draco, however, seemed to have gotten his good humor back, because he was smiling again.

“It’s not. You stick your penis in it and it’s supposed to feel really good.”

Stick his penis in it? “But… why would you do that?”

“To make babies.” At Harry’s still blank face, Draco nearly faltered. “Potter, you do know where babies come from, don’t you?”

“That’s absurd, of course I know where babies come from. They come from a mother’s stomach. I’m not daft.” Well, he might have been had his primary school teacher not gotten pregnant.  That was the same incident that had lead to Dudley receiving what Aunt Petunia had called ‘the talk,’ while Harry tried to pretend he wasn’t listening. Uncle Vernon had looked particularly purple during that conversation.

“Do you know how they get there?”

He hadn’t thought about that. Very slowly, he managed to get out, “No,” half afraid that Draco was going to tell him and half afraid he wasn’t.

Draco’s grin broadened.

 

____________________

 

Harry stood in the shower, looking down at his penis. He’d spent quite a good amount of time touching it over the years - to piss, to wash, to toss off - but he’d never given it much thought. He’d never, for example, really thought about why he wanted to touch it, or why it felt good. It just did and that was that.

According to Draco, he would one day be expected to stick it in a girl and it would feel really good and they’d make a baby. Well, there was more to it than that, but none of it had sounded particularly interesting to Harry. He’d never been mesmerized by a girl’s breasts before, or wanted to stick his hand up her skirt.

Was there something wrong with him? Was he supposed to want to? Not that Harry put a great deal of trust in anything Draco had to say, but he did know that the other boys thought about girls like that. Fred and George were always making comments about Alicia Spinnet and how she looked in her Quidditch uniform, saying that this year she filled it out quite nicely.

Should he be thinking that too? Was it wrong that he hadn’t exactly noticed how nice any of the older girls looked? Sighing, Harry put his head under the faucet and tried to concentrate on the flow of hot water sending shivers down his spine. He’d spent all night thinking about it and hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep. If he was lucky, this would help wake him up some and he could turn in early.

A sudden pounding on the door nearly sent Harry crashing to the floor as he slipped on the water soaked tiles in shock. “What?!”

“You’ve been in there for nearly twenty minutes. What could you possibly be doing?” It was Snape.

Unable to think of an answer, Harry pushed his hair back with his hands. He didn’t want to say ‘thinking’ because Snape always made cracks about his inability to do so. “I’m… soaking.”

There was a pause. “Get out and get dressed, Potter. Breakfast is waiting.”

With a sigh, Harry turned off the water and quickly dried off, pulling his clothes on.   Draco was sitting at the table, smirking as he picked at his cooling breakfast with a fork. Snape scowled at Harry as he took his seat. “In future, I would appreciate you refraining from indulging in your more juvenile instincts in my shower. I do have to bathe in it, as well.”

Harry had already picked up his fork when it occurred to him what Snape meant. He looked up, eye wide and face red with embarrassment. “I wasn’t!”

Snape sneered distastefully, “Yes, of course, you were… soaking.” He began eating, ignoring Harry’s gaping mouth and stunned expression.

Harry hung his head and tried to eat, but his stomach was tied in knots. He’d barely gotten two pieces of toast down when he decided that was all that he was going to be able to manage for the day and excused himself, going into his room and laying on the bed. He couldn’t fathom why, but the idea that Snape thought he’d been masturbating in the shower was humiliating, even worse so since he’d said it in front of Draco.

The door to his room creaked opened, but he ignored it, staring at his book and pretending he was reading. Draco sat at the desk and tapped the end of a quill on the wood, staring at him intently. After several minutes, Harry turned around. “Could you stop that? You’ll ruin the quill and it’s the one Professor McGonagall gave me for Christmas.”

Draco looked at the quill with distaste and shrugged, setting it down. “So, were you?”

Harry looked back at the book, trying and failing to read the text. “Was I what?”

“Were you having a wank in the shower?”

Did he have to be so crude about it? “No, I wasn’t.”

“You were in there for an awfully long time.”

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply and trying not to get upset. He had promised that he’d keep his temper and he meant to do just that. “I was thinking.”

“About what?”

“About what you said yesterday, about girls and babies.” It hadn’t seemed like a good idea to tell the truth, but he’d doubted Draco would have believed ‘Quidditch.’

“So, you were having a go, then!”

Harry closed his book and sat up. “I wasn’t!”

Draco smirked. “I do.”

The room went silent and Harry blinked as he went over the words in his head. “You… you wank in Snape’s shower?”

“No. In my shower at home, where I can lock the door and ensure that there are no interruptions and no one around to get suspicious.”

For a moment, it was all Harry could do not to gape openly, then, something horrible happened. He picture it.   Not in the bathroom at Malfoy Manor, of course, because he’d never seen it, but he imagined Draco, standing in Snape’s shower, legs tense and naked as he stroked himself to orgasm. The more he thought about it, the warmer it felt in the room, until Harry became very aware that he was reacting to the information in a way he couldn’t hide.

Turning around very suddenly, Harry laid on his stomach again, facing away from Draco and trying not to cringe as his erection dug into the bed. “You’re a prat, Malfoy, now leave me alone, I’m trying to read.”

Draco shrugged and got up, leaving the room with all the air of someone who hadn’t just been told to ‘bugger off.’ As soon as the door was closed behind him, Harry buried his head in the comforter and groaned. There was nothing for it, he was going to have to take care of his not-so-little problem and hope that Malfoy didn’t come back before he was finished.

 

____________________

 

Harry lay in bed looking at his watch anxiously while trying his best not to move or make any noise. It was a longstanding tradition of his to stay awake until midnight on his birthday. If McGonagall knew, she’d have a fit. If Snape knew, he’dsneer and make some kind of degrading comment. If Draco knew… Harry felt the bed shift for the fourth time in as many minutes. Oh, it would be just like Malfoy to ruin Harry’s birthday in his sleep.

Resisting the urge to elbow the other boy, he stayed still, quietly staring at the clock next to his bed, which would soon tick to ‘Happy Birthday.’ The bed shifted again and Harry held his breath, listening for any indication that Malfoy was awake. After a few seconds of silence, he was surprised by a muffled grunting noise.

Was Draco dreaming? Harry turned half around and looked at the boy next to him. Draco was lying on his side and, now that Harry was listening, his breathing was erratic, if quiet.

“Malfoy?” It was scarcely a hiss, but the subtle movements that Harry hadn’t even noticed, stopped.

“Potter?!”

Harry sat fully up, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing Potter.   Why aren’t you asleep?”

Harry felt the bed move again and pulled his wand out from under his pillow, muttering ‘lumos’. Even in the very dim glow of his wand light, Draco’s cheeks looked distinctly pink and his hair was sticking out on one side. Harry took it all in - the disarrayed hair, the flushed appearance, the shaky breathing, and the twitchy half motions that had barely moved the bed before he’d caught him.

“You…” It was only a moment before Harry pieced it all together, but once he had, he very much wished he hadn’t. “In the bed?”

“You were meant to be sleeping.” The pink had fled, leaving Draco’s cheeks distinctly pale.

“That doesn’t matter!” Harry pulled his wand up between them so that he could see better. “This is my bed! I have to sleep in it. You don’t go wanking in a bed that someone else has to sleep in.” Never mind that he had done it several times. At least he had made sure he was alone in the room.

Draco smirked, “Where was I supposed to do it, the shower?”

Even after a week, Draco refused to let the shower incident drop, especially when he’d realized how much it bothered Harry. Harry, however, despite his resolve not to rise to it, found himself fuming every time the blonde Slytherin mentioned it. “I don’t care where you ‘do it’ so long as it isn’t in my bed.”

There was silence for a moment and, considering the amount of noise they were making and the fact that Snape slept like a nervous centaur, Harry expected the Potion’s Master to come storming in any moment. He didn’t.   Instead, they continued to stare obstinately at each other until Draco finally broke the silence. “Bet you can’t.”

It was all Harry could do not to gawk like a fish. Couldn’t do it? Was Malfoy insane?   Was it even physically possible for a twelve-year-old boy not to be able to? “What…” But Harry couldn’t get past that.

Draco’s trademark smirk appeared again, but it was quickly wiped away by a mischievous grin that Harry associated with the blonde getting an idea, especially ones that Harry wasn’t likely to approve of. “Well, can you?”

“Of course I can!” The idea that someone, let alone Draco, thought he was incapable of something as rudimentary as wanking was… insulting.

“Then do it.” The grin hadn’t even wavered.

And before Harry really had time to think about what he was saying, the word, “Fine!” was out of his mouth and hanging between them. Outwardly, Harry tried to maintain his stubborn anger; inwardly, all he seemed to be able to do was think ‘damn’, over and over again.

Harry watched Draco intently as the silence dragged on. It was quite clear to Draco from the shocked expression, that the Gryffindor Golden Boy had not meant to say that and, from the ever-broadening grin on Draco’s face, it was clear to Harry that he was not getting out of it.

With a frustrated sigh, Harry crossed his arms over his chest,“I’ll…” he thought desperately, wracking his brain for anything that might get him out of it. “I’ll do it if you do.”

Draco shrugged, “All right, you’re on.”

Oh, bloody hell. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off Draco as the other boy wriggled out of his pyjama bottoms, saying something about ‘doing it proper’ and then stretched out on top of the quilt, one arm behind his head, the other reaching out to touch himself.

Harry stared.   Draco Malfoy was lying naked on _his_ bed, masturbating while he watched, and he was getting _hard_. He was so caught up in the realization that this, of all things, was exciting him the way that girls seemed to excite the other boys, which he didn’t notice Draco was staring at him.

“You might want to take it out, Potter, unless you know something I don’t, which I doubt.”

Starting at the interruption of his thoughts, he quickly lay down and pushed his pants past his hips, leaving them bunched around his thighs while he tried to feel anything other than awkward and embarrassed. Draco, however, did not seem to be having the same problem; he wasn’t even trying to conceal the breathy noises he was making practically in Harry’s ear. “Let’s see who can get off first.”

That just about did it for Harry. He was so achingly hard that if he didn’t touch himself, he wouldn’t be able to stand the next morning. Reaching down, he started to stroke his penis, waiting for Draco to pop out at any moment with an insult or to reveal his sinister plan to get Harry into trouble yet again.

When the only reaction from the blonde was that his breathing became deeper and the slapping sounds of flesh against flesh became quicker, Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on his own pleasure.   Within minutes, he felt the building pressure in his balls. Draco let out a strangled moan and Harry felt him jerk next to him on the bed.

He opened his eyes and saw Draco, eyes closed tightly and cum spilling over his fingers.   Before he knew what was happening, his orgasm hit him, hard and fast. He bit his tongue to keep from making the same, undignified noises that Malfoy was making, but couldn’t suppress the quiet whimper that escaped from between his lips.

When he’d finally come down, he saw Draco smirking at him, “I win, Potter. Get used to it.” The blond turned away and pulled his pajama bottoms on before curling up under the covers.

Harry lay panting for several minutes before he could force himself to move. Wiping his hand on his pants, he pulled them up and turned over as well, staring at the little clock next to his bed that read ‘Happy Birthday’ in bright rainbow colors. Not bothering to suppress a smile, Harry snuggled into his pillow.

Happy birthday, indeed.

 

____________________

 

The next morning, Harry had woken sluggishly to a small stack of presents at the end of his bed. Even after spending the last few years at Hogwarts, he just couldn’t seem to get used to the idea that when he woke on the morning of his birthday, there would be presents to unwrap and a cake to eat. It was never a very big cake mind, but the house elves took great delight in baking a very small, chocolate fudge cake and sticking a candle in it that was charmed to sing Happy Birthday in the most obnoxious, shrill tone he had ever heard. Of course, after the first year, he’d insisted on taking it in the kitchen, away from Snape, who would probably have strangled one of the poor elves for even daring to come near his dungeon abode with something as cheerful as cake again.

Sitting up, it took him a moment to remember the night before and when he did, he found that he wanted to bury his head in the covers. He couldn’t imagine the kind of ridicule that Draco was going to throw at him. Not that Harry thought there was anything in particular to ridicule (they’d both done it), but if there was, Draco Malfoy would find it.

Getting out of bed, Harry saw that Draco had already gotten up. Half afraid that he’d accidentally slept in again, he grabbed his clothes and ran through the living room into the shower. He stopped long enough to catch Snape glaring at him from his desk and cringed. Damn, he must have.

Ducking into the bathroom, he turned on the water and jumped in before it was even warm, lathering and rinsing as quickly as possible. It wouldn’t do to put Snape in a bad mood on his birthday. Well, a worse mood than usual, anyway.

Every year, he had made it his personal goal not to get into trouble on his birthday, and every year so far he had succeeded. Of course, Draco Malfoy had never before been present on his birthday and Harry hoped this wasn’t an ill omen.

Knowing that Snape got irritated when he made a mess at the table, he ate very slowly and carefully, and waited as patiently as any twelve-year-old could, for Draco to finish his. He even managed to keep from tapping his toes against the floor. As soon as the blond Slytherin had put his fork down, however, Harry couldn’t wait any longer. “May I be excused?”

Snape scowled again, but nodded and Harry bit back his grin as he left the table to put on his shoes.   Not even the fact that Draco was following close behind was enough to dampen his enthusiasm. It wasn’t until they were several halls down from Snape’s quarters that Draco finally spoke.

“Where are we going, anyway?”

Harry smiled, “ _I_ am going to the kitchens and then I’m going up to the Owlery to see Hedwig. I’ve no idea where _you’re_ going.”

Draco ignored the last comment, “Are you still hungry or something, and why would you want to go see your owl? Do you have a letter for her to deliver?”

“No, but she’s owed a treat for making sure my presents got to me; and I’m not hungry, but the house elves like to give me cake on my birthday.”

Draco’s steps faltered, “You take your birthday cake in the _kitchen_ , with the _house elves_.”

Harry shrugged, “The first year they sent it to dungeons with dinner. The candle’s charmed to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ until you blow it out and the vein on Snape’s temple was so large I thought it was going to pop. So, now I go to the kitchens for it. Dumbledore and Hagrid will be there though, so it’s not as if I’m alone or anything.”

Draco looked repulsed by the idea, but said nothing else as he followed Harry up the stairs and through the familiar fruit portrait. Harry had only a moment to register that both Dumbledore and Hagrid were already there before he found himself crushed in a hug by the groundskeeper.

“Happy Birthday, ‘Arry!”

Harry managed to wheeze out, “Hello, Hagrid.”

Draco watched from a safe distance as Harry managed to pull himself away and then smiled at Dumbledore, completely ignoring the shoddy state of his now wrinkled robes. “Good morning, Professor Dumbledore.”

“And a good morning it is, Harry. Happy birthday.”   The dark haired boy grinned broadly and went to sit at a stool pushed up against the bench. “Have you opened your presents, yet?”

“No, I woke up late.”

With great trepidation, Draco sat down next to Harry, eyeing the happily twittering house elves suspiciously. Hogwart’s house elves always gave him the creeps, they were too… happy. The elves at Malfoy Manor were never this happy. They were respectful, often frightened, and went about their business as quietly as possible, the way any self-respecting house elf should.

“Is Mr. Malfoy wanting something to drink?”

Draco nearly fell out of his seat in surprise. No matter how many times they had done it, he never could get used to the way they always managed to sneak up on him. “A glass of milk, I suppose.”

While he waited for his milk, he watched Harry out of the corner of his eye. Harry was very much like a house elf. No matter how bad things got, he always bounced back up and he could always find something to smile about. Like now, he was taking his birthday cake in the kitchens with only two adults and the house elves, yet he was smiling like it was the most fun he’d had all summer. Which it probably was.

Draco sipped at the milk that had appeared in front of him. Harry was peculiar, that’s all there was to it. Draco was so caught up in that thought, that he was caught off guard by a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he found himself staring into the wrinkled, concerned face of Headmaster Dumbledore.

Oh, bugger. There were only two rules that his father had been adamant about; 1. Play nice - Potter would trust him due to association if nothing else, as long as Draco didn’t bugger it up further; 2. Do not, under any circumstances, catch the Headmaster’s attention. Albus Dumbledore, while a meddling old fool, was not the sort of man that let things slip past him and Lucius wanted to make certain that he did not have his eyes on the Malfoy heir.

“Good morning, young Mr. Malfoy. I don’t believe that I have ever had the occasion to speak with you during the summer. Are you enjoying your time here?”

Draco tried not to sneer, but his lip kept twitching upward. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” He started drinking his milk again, hoping that would deter the man from asking any more questions.

“You seemed distracted.   How is your father?”

He very much did not like where this line of questioning was going. Looking over at Potter, Draco was distressed to see him deeply engaged in conversation with the groundskeeper. Really, how interesting could it possibly be? What could that… that… giant have to say that was more important than keeping his guest from having to converse with the Headmaster of their school?

Luckily, just as Draco was going to have to grudgingly say something (probably that he thought his father was doing well, because it seemed a safe enough answer) the house elves appeared with the cake.   He sighed in relief, even when the cake started to sing in what Draco quickly assessed as the most annoying voice he had ever heard.

As the song ended and the cake was cut and divided, Draco watched Harry carefully for any sign of discontent. Nothing. He’d never seen him that happy, never seen his eyes sparkle like that. It was as if there was an entirely different side to Harry that he’d never seen before, but that couldn’t be right. Last year Draco had spent every class they had together watching Harry. He’d watched him eat, he’d watched him study, he’d watched him talk with his friends and there had never been a hint of this.

Harry handed Draco a piece of cake and he felt himself flush as Harry caught his eye and held it. Damn, he’d been caught staring. Raising his eyebrows suggestively, he was pleased to see Harry’s cheeks turning pink under his tan. Stupid cheerful Potter. He looked away, only to see Dumbledore smiling down at them with that unnerving twinkle in his eyes. Stupid meddling Dumbledore.

Taking another bite, he stared purposefully at the bench. He’d show them. He wasn’t sure how, or even when, but he’d show them.

 

____________________

 

It wasn’t until Harry had finished marking the second week off his calendar that he realized how long the month was going to be. He remembered once, when he’d gotten in trouble for what he now knew was wild magic and Uncle Vernon had locked him in his cupboard for an entire month, only letting him out to go to the bathroom and to do chores. He hadn’t even had the broken soldiers back then, all he’d been able to do was stare at the spiders and watch shadows pass under his door. Compared to this, that had been a picnic. Despite the fact that he hated the looks of disappointment on McGonagall and Dumbledore’s faces when he got into trouble, he actively considered doing something that would piss Snape off enough to lock him back in the store room. At least then he’d have some peace and quiet.

“What are you doing, Potter?”

Harry looked over and saw Draco standing in the doorway to the bedroom. “Why do you care, Malfoy?”

“I don’t, only you’ve been staring at that bloody calendar for the past two minutes. Is there anything interesting on it?” Draco stepped forward and leaned over, pushing Harry aside with his shoulder. “As I expected, absolutely nothing. You’re so boring.”

Harry felt his face flush in annoyance. He set down his quill, got up from the desk and moved to his trunk. Draco threw himself down on the bed and sighed, “I’m bored, Potter. Think of something to do.”

“I already have.”

The blonde sat up quickly, “What?”

“I’m going to the tower to see Hedwig and then I’m going to the library to do my homework.”

“You’re always doing your homework. I don’t see how you could possible have any left.”

In truth, he didn’t.   He’d finished it before Draco even arrived, but of the five times he’d gone to the library, the Slytherin had followed him in only once and even then he’d left quickly. It was like a sanctuary; a very dusty, silent one, but it was all the same to him.

Draco frowned as Harry pulled on his socks and shoes. “And what is it with you and that owl. I swear, it’s every other day with you up there and I’m either stuck here alone or listening to you coo over a… bird. Not like she ever brings you anything, anyway.”

“Shut it, Malfoy.”   It was true, besides his birthday, Hedwig hadn’t brought him so much as a letter from any of his friends, just the usual questions from McGonagall; was he behaving, had Snape abused him in any way or gotten out of line, had he finished his homework, was he having fun…?

Harry bit his tongue to keep from saying anything as Draco followed him out of the room and through the halls of the dungeon, “We could go to the field and you could let me fly your Nimbus 2000.”

“For the tenth time, no.”

Scoffing, Draco shoved his hands in his pockets, “I haven’t asked ten times, Potter.”

Without turning around, Harry shrugged, “Fine, then - for the _sixth_ time, no. You are not touching anything of mine, _especially_ not my broom. You’d probably just break it to get even with me for god-knows-what.”

“That’s not true, I’d know exactly what I was getting even with you for.”

Harry rolled his eyes and started up the winding stairs to the Owlery. He could not possibly comprehend how one person could be such a complete and utter arse. All he ever did was talk down to people and treat them like dirt. Back when they’d first met, Harry had thought that maybe it was just him. Maybe something about Harry just rubbed Draco the wrong way, because something about Draco sure as hell pissed off Harry.

However, it hadn’t taken him long to realize during their first year at school that Draco just simply treated everyone like that. The blond Slytherin was a prat, through and through. There was nothing more to it. Harry had eventually decided that he had dealt with his cousin for eight years and he could very well deal with Malfoy. The key was to have as little contact as possible.

“Potter.”

If only that were as easy as it sounded. “What, Malfoy?”

“I want to _do_ something.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you. Go do it.”

“Come on, Potter, you have weeks to finish whatever’s left of your homework. If you agree to come with me to the Pitch I’ll break into the ball crate and we can chase the snitch.”

Opening the door to the Owlery, Harry stepped in and looked around for Hedwig, finding her on her usual perch at the far side. “And if we get caught, which we will, Snape’ll blame it on me.”

Harry walked quickly across the room to where Hedwig was perched and reached a hand out, stroking her feathers.   “Morning, girl, are you doing alright?” He ignored Draco’s snort from the other side of the room. “I brought you a treat.”

After a few minutes watching Hedwig eat out of his palm, Harry wiped his hand on his trousers and turned around.   “I’m going to library now.”

Without waiting for a response, he brushed past the annoyed Slytherin and headed down the stairs. Part of him had hoped that his dismissive tone would put Draco off following him; the other part knew that it wasn’t likely and the sound of footsteps close behind him confirmed it. Maybe if he picked a particularly tedious subject and read some of the material out loud, Draco would leave.

Madame Pince had been loathed to leave the library doors unlocked, so instead of giving all and sundry access to her precious books, she’d given Harry the password and told him to guard it well with a few stern finger wags to help get her point across. As if Harry could think of anyone who would try and steal the password to a library. They were only books, after all.

“Studious.” He tapped the knob with his wand and it creaked open, giving way to the cavernous, echoing chamber. During the school year it wasn’t nearly this bad, even at night it seemed to have life in it, but in the dead of summer with only four or five people in the entire castle it was like a tomb.

Half closing the door behind him, Harry went in search of the dullest, most mind-numbing volume he could find. Hm, dragons were too interesting; in fact the entire section on magical animals was probably well out of range for the kind of boring that he was looking for. What he needed was something that would read like a textbook, something bland with no spice, something…

“Potter.”

“What?!”

Draco came around the corner,“What are you looking at?”

Harry looked up at the row of books in front of him,“History of Wizard and Muggle relations.” That would do, actually. If there was one thing Malfoy hated it was muggles and the wizards who voluntarily dealt with them.

Draco’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, “What for?”

“…” Shit. Shit, shit, oh! “Witch burning essay.”

“Witch burning is one the primary examples of why muggles should be under our thumbs.”

Harry grabbed a random book and pretended to flip through it. “It was harmless; Malfoy, no witch or wizard was ever actually burned.”

“Oh, no, of course not, we’re too smart for that, but it’s the intent that matters, Potter. They were trying to kill us.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry sat at a table and went about trying to pretend he was interested in what he was reading. It didn’t take him long to realise that even if he had been working on his witch burning essay, this book would not have helped. It seemed to focus more on how to interact with muggles without attracting too much attention. Looking back at the index, Harry had to bite down a chuckle at the chapter titled ‘Movies: Why they move and why you shouldn’t talk to one.’

Draco had wandered off at some point, but Harry could still hear him moving around the library.   After several minutes, in which Harry began to actually enjoy certain portions of the book, Draco returned, “Potter, can you get into the restricted section?”

Harry looked up, “Why?”

Sitting down on the table, Draco grinned, “If I’m to be stuck in the library with _you_ , I might as well be doing something interesting.”

“You don’t have to be stuck anywhere with me.”

“No, I suppose I could always just go back to wondering around the deserted castle, or watching Snape trying to brew a potion, couldn’t I?” When Harry didn’t respond, Draco sneered, “Come on, Potter, I’m your guest, you have to entertain me.”

Harry flipped the page obstinately, still refusing to look up and Draco sighed, “Fine, what will it take to get you pull your nose out of those dusty books for one afternoon?”

Looking up, Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously, Draco, no matter how bored, had never stooped so low as to genuinely ask Harry what he wanted to do. He’d always simply ordered him around. Slowly, Harry closed the book and bit his lip, “Well, I suppose if you’d stop bothering me about using my broom I could be up for some flying.”

Then, Draco did something that Harry could never have prepared himself for. He smiled; not a sneer, or a smirk, or any of the other sarcastic gestures that he was known for, but smiled. It made his face light up and his grey, normally stormy eyes shine brightly in the dim light of the library.

Harry felt his cheeks flush and he looked down quickly, closing the book and pretending to look around for anything he might have missed while the heat crept out of his face. By the time he looked up Malfoy had stopped smiling and was instead standing with his arms across his chest, tapping his foot impatiently. “Coming, Potter?”

Nodding, Harry pushed back his chair and followed Draco out the library door, casting the password on the knob to relock it and trying not to think about what Malfoy looked like when he smiled.

____________________

 

Harry was awakened by a jerking motion on the bed next to him followed by a sharp inhale of breath and more movement.   It took him a moment to realize what was going on, mostly because he thought he was still asleep and then because he couldn’t believe that anyone would be so stupid as to do _that_ again. As soon as he had confirmed that he was indeed awake and that all the available evidence did point towards _that_ , he couldn’t bring himself to even breathe, let alone interrupt.

After several second of lying there and listening, however, he found that sitting still wasn’t an option and he couldn’t very well move without Draco noticing it. “Malfoy!”

He hadn’t raised his voice above an annoyed whisper, but Draco stopped moving. When Harry didn’t say anything else, he seemed to get annoyed, “Potter, did you actually have something you wanted to say, or were just trying to piss me off?”

Harry sat up and turned around, staring openly at the half dressed boy lying out on his bed. Malfoy hadn’t even had the decency to do it under the covers this time!   He was sprawled out with his pyjama bottoms and underwear hanging from one ankle and his hand still on his penis. Suddenly, Draco smirked and raised an eyebrow, “Or did you want to join.”

Harry thanked his luck that it was probably too dark to see exactly how red his face. “No, I do not want to join, Malfoy. I want to be able to sleep without the fear that you might be groping yourself next to me.”

Lying back down with a dramatic flop, Harry tried to ignore the fact that his own cock was painfully hard.   He felt the bed move next to him, but refused to turn around and look. “Suit yourself.”

Without waiting for an answer, Draco started moving his hand over himself again, trying to ignore the fact that Harry was laying stock still next to him. He’d done this many times during the school year, with Zabini and Goyle and it had never felt quite so odd. Perhaps it was because Potter didn’t seem inclined to join or because he kept acting as if there was something wrong with it. As far as Draco was concerned, it felt good, and that was as close to analyzing it as he had come.

After a moment, he felt movement next to him and slowed his pace a little. It seemed Potter wasn’t as averse to joining as he’d sounded. Tightening his legs, he concentrated on the friction building him to orgasm until he felt the flood of pleasure rip through him.

He felt Harry jerk once and then he went still, his breath hitching. Chuckling, Draco half turned, “Night, Potter.” He lay down and pulled the covers over himself, falling sleep with the uneasy warmth of Harry’s body next to him.

 

____________________

 

“Let’s play chess.”

Harry looked up from the letter he’d been writing and whipped his head around. Draco was sitting on the bed, looking at Harry from over the brim of a book. In the past two weeks, they had spent hours flying, but no matter how long and hard they practiced, Harry always seemed to win. He couldn’t have cared less if he won, because to him it was about the thrill of being in the air. Draco, however, seemed to take it personally and after every flying session he insisted on playing a game of chess, at which time he would do his best to crush Harry like an insect.

“I don’t want to play chess.”

Huffing, Draco looked back down, “Only because you know you’ll lose.”

Harry glared, “No, I don’t want to play chess because the only reason _you_ want to is so that you can beat me at it since you can’t beat me on a broom.”

“The only reason you can beat me on a broom is because you’re flying a Nimbus 2000.”

“I could beat you no matter what I was flying.” Harry, who had turned away again, could feel Draco staring at the back of his head, but refused to turn back around. “And I’m not letting you fly my broom just to prove you wrong, Malfoy.”

There was no response for the better part of five minutes before Draco suddenly came out with, “You know, this is absolute rubbish, I can’t imagine why you’d want to read it.”

Harry did turn around for this and then stormed over, yanking his copy of ‘Witches’ out of Draco’s hands and shoving it in his bedside drawer. If he’d realised it was one of his books that Malfoy had his hands on, he would have taken it away long before. He should have known too, in the entire time Harry had known the other boy, he had never seen him pick up a book, especially one that wasn’t school related.

Casting a quick locking charm on his drawer, he faced the blond, “If it’s such rubbish, then you don’t have to read it.”

Draco narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips in that barely noticeable way that Harry had come to associate with him pouting. “Come on, Potter, it’s stiflingly boring in this place with only you to talk to.”

“Then don’t bother talking to me.”

In the past two weeks Harry had figured out quite a lot about Malfoy. Such as when Malfoy glared at someone, it was often because he couldn’t think of any other appropriate expression and that, given enough time and enough boredom, Malfoy would ask for things rather than simply ordering Harry around. Such as now. All Harry had to do was wait it out for a just a few more seconds and…

“Fine, can we do something, anything that doesn’t involve staying in here?”

With a satisfied nod, Harry went over to his desk and turned his letter over, capping his ink so that it wouldn’t dry out. While he pulled on his socks and shoes, he heard Draco doing the same. It was with much relief that Harry once again reminded himself that Draco the-spoiled-brat Malfoy would be leaving Hogwarts the next day and that he wouldn’t have to see him until term started, and only then when forced to by class and meal schedules.

They’d reached the top of the stairs and Harry still didn’t have a clue what they were going to do and or where they were going to do it, but Draco seemed have figured something out, because he was moving up the stairs confidently. It wasn’t until they’d made it up three more flights of stairs that Harry couldn’t hold his curiosity back anymore. “Where are we going anyway?”

“Gryffindor common room.”

Harry halted, “Gryffindor common room?” When Draco didn’t slow down, Harry hurried to catch up with him. “Malfoy, why on earth do you want to go to the Gryffindor common room?”

“I’m curious.   I imagine it’s all brightly coloured and overrun with bad taste.”

Where did he get this stuff?   Harry never heard any of the other boys talk like that, but Draco seemed to be obsessed with it. He was always going on about Harry’s wardrobe, or lack thereof, and the general state of decorative disarray at Hogwarts.

“Well, what makes you think I can even get in there? It’s the middle of summer holidays, you know, I don’t have a password.”

Draco stopped long enough for one of the stairs to move into place, “Really, Potter, it’s your house, I’m sure you can manage somehow.”

By then, they’d reached the Fat Lady, who was sitting in her portrait. One of the other women was sitting with her and they appeared to be gossiping in hushed voices. “Madame?”

She turned to him, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright,“Yes, dear. Harry, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harry dug his toes down in his shoes, “I was wondering if you could possibly let me in?”

She smiled down at him, “Now, I can’t do that without a password.” He started to turn to Malfoy to tell him that he’d told him so, but the Fat Lady interrupted, “Do you remember what it was?”

When Harry didn’t immediately speak, Draco poked him in the back and he had half a mind to turn around and poke him back, but the Fat Lady was looking at him expectantly. “Um, yes, of course, Caput Draconis.”

“There’s a dear.” She swung open and Harry went inside the hole, stepping aside to let Draco pass.

The portrait closed behind them and Draco stood in front of it, gaping at the large room. “It’s worse than I imagined! I expected there to be a great deal of red, but did you really need to use this much gold?”

Harry sighed blissfully as he sank into the comfy cushions of the sofa and closed his eyes, “You make it sound like I had a choice. Besides, it’s nice, cheery, even.”

“Nice?” Draco sat in one of the chairs and made a face, “I feel like I’m sinking, Potter. One should not ‘sink’ into their furniture.” Despite his words, however, he didn’t seem inclined to move.

After several minutes of silence, in which he fought diligently not to fall asleep, Harry finally sat up. “Well, was there anything else you wanted to do, or are we just going to sit here all day?”

Draco shrugged, “I’ve no idea. I think the horror of this room has rendered me unable to form a single thought.”

Harry laughed. He hadn’t meant to. In fact, it was his experience that when Malfoy opened his mouth it rarely led to anything but frowns and sighs of annoyance. This time, however, something about it had seemed incredibly funny. Perhaps it was the utter exhaustion on Draco’s face, or the way the Slytherin could look disgusting with only one eye open.

Draco wanted to be upset that Harry had laughed, because he hadn’t meant it to be funny. It was a very serious matter. The red and gold were clashing so brightly that they made the back of his eyes hurt, but it was that smile again. When Harry genuinely smiled, his eyes lit up and his cheeks turned a very faint pink and it was almost impossible not to smile with him.

“Oh, fine, Potter, show me the dormitories.”

Harry got up, still half smiling at whatever it was he had found so amusing and Draco pushed himself labouriouslyout of the chair (it was a crime, really, nothing should be so soft and comfortable that you had difficulty getting out of it). As he followed the other boy leading the way up a set of stairs, he tried to convince himself that he was relieved to be going home the next day.

 

____________________

 

The next morning was dark and stormy. There were heavy clouds outside the castle, threatening to explode at any moment with thunder and rain.   As such, Lucius Malfoy had determined that it would be far more appropriate to travel by floo, lest he risk getting his robes wet.

It was therefore arranged that at noon the next day Snape would escort Harry and Draco to the Headmaster’s office, where Dumbledore would be waiting to open the network and allow Lucius passage. Draco was bored with the idea. He’d made a large deal about how he hated travelling by floo, it was messy and disorienting and he’d much rather sit in a carriage and watch the scenery for an hour and a half than have to deal with the nauseous after-effects of being jostled around. Harry, on the other hand, was ecstatic. He’d heard about floo, but there hadn’t ever been an occasion for him to use one.   Dumbledore had said it was much safer to use portkeys as long as you knew the person who’d given it to you.

As they marched up the stairs, Snape was forced once again to see the great difference between the two. Draco, walking stiffly, his head up, staring straight forward, his mouth set tightly and looking for all the world as if he were marching towards his own execution. Not that Snape blamed him. Going to home to Lucius Malfoy was not something that he would have wished on any child, let alone one as eager to please as Draco.

In contrast, Harry was practically bouncing his way down the hall, a large grin plastered on his face.   Every time they passed a window, he stared at the rain clouds in awe. Anyone looking at the boy would think that it was a bright, sunny day out and that he wanted to go play outside.   As it was, Snape was simply aware that Harry was a twelve-year-old boy with the attention span of a Cornish pixie.

“Eyes ahead, Mr. Potter, we wouldn’t want you running into anything.”

Harry looked forward in time to avoid a half open door and then flushed deeply in embarrassment. “Sorry, Professor.”

At the rate that child injured himself, it was a miracle he had survived this long. If he wasn’t running into doors, he was getting knocked around on a broom. How Dumbledore expected to keep the boy safe from potential harm when it was all they could do to keep him safe from himself, Snape didn’t think he would ever know.

Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk when they entered, wearing his most brightly colored purple robes, yellowish moons sparkling in deep velvet. “Harry! Draco! Have a seat. Lemon drop?”

Harry smiled back at the Headmaster and sat down, popping a lemon drop in his mouth while his eyes skirted anxiously over to the looming fireplace behind the desk. Draco’s frown deepened and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously, pointedly ignoring the bowl of sweets. Never trust a grown man offering sweets to minors, especially when that man was Albus Dumbledore. Snape himself suspected the sweets was laced with a mild sedative at the least.

As they waited, Dumbledore turned his attention to Draco, who scooted further back in his chair anxiously, “How are you this morning, young Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco was quite for a few seconds, obviously gauging his answer. “Fine.”

Snape made a mental note to teach Draco the finer art of deception sometime during the coming school year; it was all good and well to think about something before answering, but it wouldn’t do to have him being quite so obvious about it.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, “I’m pleased to hear that. Will you be returning next year?”

Harry grunted sharply and then huffed annoyedly, “I don’t suppose he has a choice.”

Snape’s head jerked around to look at Potter, who had stopped staring expectantly at the fireplace in favor of throwing glares at Malfoy. A motion caught Snape’s attention and he looked down to see Draco swinging his legs innocently, after two or three passes, he widened it enough to clip Harry in the shin, making the dark haired boy grimace.

Snape put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed slightly, “No need to be rude, Mr. Potter.” Harry looked back at him, glaring, but Dumbledore quickly interrupted.

“Now, Severus, I’m sure Harry didn’t mean anything by it. We all have a choice in what we do, isn’t that right, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco tried to smile, but it came out looking like he was in pain, a rather undignified expression for a boy of his breeding, “Of course, Headmaster.”

A loud rushing from the fireplace caught their attention and Snape saw the unmistakable look of relief in Draco’s face, the way he suddenly seemed to relax as soon as his father stepped into the room. Lucius brushed himself off and looked around, eyeing his son before turning to Dumbledore. “Good afternoon, Headmaster. I do hope you’re doing well.”

When they had been in school together Snape had admired Lucius a great deal, no matter that Snape was a good two years older, Lucius had a way about him. He could just look at someone and make them feel inferior, he glowed with life and energy. James Potter and his gang had rarely gone out of their way to give Lucius Malfoy trouble, whereas they had done everything within their power to make Snape’s life a living hell. In his younger years, Snape would have done a great many things to impress the stately blond, a great many, stupid things; like getting involved with dark wizardry to impress him. That hadn’t been a particularly brilliant move on his part.

Lucius nodded to Snape and then motioned for Draco to come to him, still keeping one eye on Dumbledore.   “If you’ll excuse us, I had hoped we’d be able to chat, but something has come up. Say good evening, Draco.”

“Good evening, Professor. Headmaster.”

Lucius put a hand on Draco’s shoulder, much the same way Snape had done to Potter earlier. “Draco.”

Draco sneered, “Good evening, Potter.”

The Headmaster nodded politely, but didn’t take his eyes away from the two until they’d disappeared into the fire. Harry watched raptly until the last of the green flames had sucked in on themselves and disappeared.  Dumbledore turned to Snape, “Severus, why don’t you go on ahead? I’ll discuss tomorrow’s arrangements with Harry and see that he gets back in time for supper.”

Harry’s eyes lit up and Snape found himself scowling. The boy didn’t have to be so damnably amiable all the bloody time. “Of course, Headmaster.”

He gave Harry one last scathing look, not that the boy was paying him any attention, and headed back to his rooms to prepare for the school year.


	5. Summer 4

_July 20, 1993_

 

The only word Harry could come up with to describe his second year was ‘odd’.  If he thought just about the Weasleys and staying at their home and riding in a flying car, he could say it had been ‘fantastic’. If he thought just about Quidditch and the fact that he had won against Malfoy not once, but twice, he could say it had been ‘exciting’. If he thought just about Ginny’s crush on him and the way she’d sent that little cupid to read him a poem in a hall full of people, he could say it had been ‘embarrassing’. If he thought just about Gilderoy Lockhart coming around every corner, saying and doing things that made Harry more and more terrified to go to Defence class, he could say it had been ‘frightening’. If he thought just about having heard voices in the wall and thinking he’d gone insane until he’d finally tracked down the sixteen-year-old spirit of Voldemort entombed in a diary, he could say it had been ‘nerve-racking’.  But when he put it all together, nothing seemed to sum it up better than ‘odd’.

It had started at the Weasleys’ when a funny little house elf named Dobby showed up and tried to convince him not to go back to Hogwarts. He’d told Ron, but had made him promise not to tell his parents because Harry kept thinking that he’d rather not make that kind of impression his first stay over.

Then the wall to Platform 9¾ had mysteriously closed and Ron had suggested flying his father’s car to school. Harry had wanted to object, because he knew that flying cars weren’t exactly regulation, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do, and besides, how many chances would he get to ride in a flying car? Well, to be fair, probably more than once if they hadn’t wrecked it into the Whomping Willow. He’d always been told that tree was dangerous, but until just then he hadn’t known how dangerous.

Snape had been livid, nearly as much so as when he’d thought Harry had stolen the dragon’s whisker two years ago, but Dumbledore and McGonagall had interrupted before things got out of hand. Harry didn’t doubt for a second that had they been alone, Snape would have put him over his knee and thrashed him. As it was, he had been given detention and a stern lecture from McGonagall before being sent off to bed.

Things had gone downhill from there. First Ms. Norris had been attacked and Filch seemed dead set on him having been at fault. Dumbledore had said that he knew Harry wasn’t to blame, which had helped, because he’d thought people were bound to believe Dumbledore, well, everyone except Snape anyway, who glared at him just that much more during Potions.

Then Dobby had struck again. Not that Harry had realised it was Dobby at the time, he’d been too busy dodging the rouge bludger to think much of anything. He’d still won though, much to Draco’s annoyance. Later, while he was lying in the hospital wing dealing with Lockhart’s little ‘mistake’, Dobby had shown up and told him that the Bludger and the barrier at the platform had been his fault and it was all Harry could do not to strangle the little elf, broken arm be damned.

And things rolled even further down the hillside that Harry was quickly coming to realise would be the entire school year. He joined the duelling club because it seemed like fun, only to find out that Lockhart was in charge of it. Then he’d discovered that he could speak parseltongue, which he had thought, for the briefest of moments might be interesting. After that the entire school thought _he_ was the Heir of Slytherin and he was hard pressed to get anyone to look at him, let alone talk.

Hermione had been petrified, Hagrid was taken away, he was attacked by giant spiders, Ginny disappeared, and he’d had to fight a basilisk and Tom Riddle who turned out to be none other than Lord-bloody-Voldemort _again_. It was like there should have been a warning sign if things were going to get that bad.

Even though everything did turn out all right, Harry had never been so glad to see the end of a school year.   Malfoy hadn’t been pleased, but then things going well for Harry rarely made Malfoy happy. Once he had said goodbye to his friends at the train station and he and Hagrid were walking back to the castle though, the year seemed to melt away. It was summer and he’d be damned if he were going to let anything ruin it.

 

____________________

 

 It was three a.m. when the alarm was raised. It had only happened one other time that Draco could remember, but one time was enough. The loud ringing that ran through every occupant of the Manor was mentally deafening, making the inside of his head vibrate with it, alerting them to the presence of an unwanted guest.

Draco buried his head further into his pillow, but the sound only seemed to get louder. One of the house elves popped into his room. Draco sat up, dreary eyed and sneered at the fidgety, annoying little creature. The house elf motioned for him to follow, “Master Draco must be coming with Mimi.”

He turned to the window and saw the bright morning sun blazing around the edges of his thick curtains. Oh, just lovely, now he’d never get back to sleep. The elf looked around nervously, “Master Draco must be coming quickly, to the safe room before Master Lucius...”

Whatever it might have said was lost as Draco’s father stormed into the room, looking for all the world as if he hadn’t just been roused from sleep in the middle of the night. Well, unless you counted the pale grey night robe, but even that was finer than many Wizards’ daywear.

“There’s no need to go to the safe room, Draco, it’s just some fool from the Ministry who thought it would be better to floo in than send an owl. There’s been an emergency, I’ll have to go in to work.”

“Now?” The ringing had stopped, replaced by the dull buzzing after affect.

“Yes. You were to be going to Hogwarts this evening?” Draco nodded, unable to hold back his yawn any longer. Lucius frowned at him for a moment before continuing, “You’ll have to leave now. I’ve no doubt Dumbledore is awake, considering the state of things.”

Go now, at three in the morning? “What’s happening?”

His father picked a piece of dark bed lint off the shoulder of his robes, “Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban.”

“Escaped?!” No one had ever escaped Azkaban.

“Yes, they’re not sure how just yet, but I get the feeling that I won’t be coming home for a while. Now get dressed, I’ll notify Dumbledore of the change of plans.” Without another word, he turned and left the room, the dark robe sweeping behind him.

Draco sat in bed for a while afterwards, until Mimi became so distressed by him not obeying his father’s orders that he got up just to make her be quiet. He stepped into the shower and quickly rinsed off. The water woke him and he was able to focus more on what was going on and less on the annoyance of having been roused so early.

Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban? He really hadn’t thought that was possible. There had been one time, when he was little, that he’d gone to his father’s work. There had been a trial being held for a prisoner in the lower levels and when they’d gone down there to pick something up from a rotund woman sitting behind a heavy wooden desk, a dementor had passed by them. It was not an experience that Draco ever cared to repeat.

By the time he’d finished in the shower, Mimi had already packed his things and put a fresh pair of clothes out on the bed for him to change into. The shirt was dark blue, but he didn’t feel like arguing yet, so he pulled it on with the light tan trousers. He’d just managed to tie his shoes when his father returned. “Are you finished, yet?”

“Yes, Father.”

The house elf disappeared with his trunk, presumably taking it to Hogwarts, and he followed his father through the Manor sullenly. He didn’t want to go to Hogwarts and put up with Harry Potter again. He already had to spend school years with him. Of course, he wasn’t going to say as much, especially not with his father already so perturbed and it being so early, but he could very well think whatever he liked.

Lucius stopped at the door to the study and looked down at his son. “I want you to be careful with Dumbledore. He may be keeping a closer eye on you this year than before.” Draco nodded his understanding, though in truth he couldn’t imagine why this year would be different from any other.

“And you are to continue trying to be as pleasant as possible with Potter. I know he’s a do-gooder Gryffindor and you’ve little patience for such things, but you’re a Malfoy and Malfoy’s do not allow opportunity to slip them by simply because they aren’t patient. You will play nice, help him if he asks and do not attempt to get him into any more trouble, am I clear?”

Draco nodded again, briskly this time, because the subject of his behaviour with Potter often led to punishment.

“There is also the matter about Black.”

His interest piqued and any weariness he might have had fled. “He’s escaped, right?”

“Yes.” His father seemed to be turning something over in his head for a moment before he spoke, “What do you know about Black?”

“Only what you’ve told me; that he was the Potters’ secrets keeper and that he betrayed them to the Dark Lord. And that he’s Harry’s Godfather.”

Lucius frowned and knelt down to look his son in the eyes. He didn’t often stoop to such undignified gestures and Draco took it as a sign of how important what he was about to say was. “Listen very carefully. Don’t say anything about any of it to anyone. I can’t be sure of what they’ve told the Potter boy, but unless I’m wrong, he won’t know Sirius Black from any other criminal. As long as he doesn’t know, you don’t say anything. I don’t want Dumbledore to think you know too much. Do I make myself clear?”

Draco nodded, slowly this time, to let his father know he’d been paying attention.

“Good. Now, stand straight.”

Lucius stood up and pushed the doors open, striding through them with confidence and marching to the fireplace. Even when no one was there to see it, his father liked to make an entrance. Draco supposed it was either force of habit or practise, but it was fun to watch, regardless.

The main fireplace that was connected to the floo was in one of the more lavish parlours on the first floor, perfect for greeting guests. There was a smaller one in his father’s study and another in the master suite in case of emergencies, but those were rarely used. This one was over seven feet high and made from black marble. It was wide, as well, and open, quite useless as a real fireplace, but then Malfoy Manor, which was kept at a temperate 24 degrees year round, had no need of a real fireplace.

Draco stepped in first and threw down the powder, saying, “Headmaster Albus Dumbledore’s Office.” After several seconds of twists and nauseating jerks, he was deposited onto the carpet in the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts. Getting up, he dusted off his slacks and stepped to the side just in time for his father to step out. It didn’t seem to matter the distance, Lucius always landed on his feet, but then the elder Malfoy could say that about a great many things.

Looking around the room, Draco spotted Potter, sitting in a chair, dressed in maroon Pyjama bottoms with fluttering snitch’s gliding around the material and a wrinkled, dull white undershirt. His hair was more tousled than usual, and his green eyes were half closed as he was staring dully at the ornate rug. Draco frowned, it appeared Potter was less a morning person than even himself.

Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk in livid turquoise robes. He looked up at Draco and smiled wearily. Draco continued to frown. “Have a seat, Draco, Mr. Malfoy.”

Lucius shook his head, “Unfortunately, I have to be leaving, I simply wanted to ensure that my son arrived safely.” Draco could tell that his father did not consider this an unfortunate thing at all. “Draco, I’ll send your Mother your best.”

Draco barely had time to nod before Lucius had left again, this time calling “Ministry of Magic” before stepping into the green flames.

Potter looked ready to fall out of his chair, “Morning Malfoy.” He slurred the words together before yawning widely.

Dumbledore chuckled and Draco shifted nervously, remembering his father’s words ‘be careful with Dumbledore. He may be keeping a closer eye on you this year than before’. The blue eyes seemed to fix on them and Potter straightened up a bit, staring back expectantly.

“My dear boys, allow me to apologize for having roused you so early in the morning.”  Harry nodded, but still seemed unable to open his eyes fully.  “There has been a breakout in Azkaban.”

Predictably The-Boy-Who-Seemed-to-Know-Nothing raised an inquisitive eyebrow, “Azkaban? Isn’t that where Hagrid was sent last year?”

“Precisely.” Why did Dumbledore always have to look so proud every time Perfect-Potter opened his mouth? “It’s a top security wizard prison and, until recently, was thought to be impossible to escape from.”

Potter’s eyes widened a little, “And this Black fellow, he’s done it?”

It was quite obvious his father had been right and Draco got the feeling Dumbledore wasn’t going to elaborate. “Yes, Black was sent to Azkaban for killing twelve muggles just after the fall of Voldemort.” Dumbledore leaned forward in his seat, looking sternly at Potter. “Listen very carefully, Harry. It is presumed that Black is headed here in the hopes that he can kill you. Whatever his intentions are, I cannot know, but the likelihood that he is coming here is very great. Do not leave the school unsupervised.”

Potter looked taken aback, but nodded obediently and Draco tried not to scoff. He was like a bloody lapdog.

With that out of the way, Dumbledore smiled again, “Now, as an added security measure, I’ve asked Professors McGonagall and Flitwick to return for the remainder of the summer. I believe that with them, as well as Professor Snape, Professor Trelawney, Professor Hagrid and I, you will be very well protected indeed.”

Potter beamed, “Hagrid’s a Professor now? What’s he teaching?”

Dumbledore smiled patiently and stood up, walking around his desk to put his hand on Potter’s shoulder, “You’ll have to ask him yourself later. Right now, I believe it’s time that we get the two of you back into bed.”

Draco started to follow Harry, but Dumbledore’s voice stopped him. “Draco, wait. Stay a moment.”

He paled slightly, but couldn’t think of a way to get out of it. Looking ahead, Harry shrugged and waved a little, walking away towards the dungeons with a slight bounce to his step. Resisting the urge to growl, he went back in and reluctantly sat in the chair.

There was an awkward silence, well awkward for Draco, who wanted nothing more than to return to the relative safety of the room in the dungeons. Dumbledore motioned to a small bowl of sweets on the corner of his desk. “Lemon drop?”

When Draco shook his head, Dumbledore folded his hands on the desktop and stared at him meaningfully. “Have you had a pleasant summer?”

Draco hesitated and settled on, “Of course.”

“Good. Now, I wish to speak with you about your father. It has come to the attention of some of our staff that you often seem to return to the school... less than well.” Draco flushed, but refused to say anything. Stupid Potter had probably told on him, or Snape. He felt a stab of something akin to gratitude mixed with resentment at the idea that Professor Snape might have been concerned enough about his well being to inform the Headmaster.

“What I wish, however, is to hear it from you, Draco.”

He grit his teeth, “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Of course not, my boy.”

He hesitated, “And there’s nothing wrong with my father, either. He... he cares about me.” He wished he could say ‘loves’, but love was a strong word for a Malfoy and Draco wasn’t sure it was one he was permitted to attribute to his father.

“I would never suggest any different.”

Knitting his eyebrows together, Draco suddenly felt restless. “May I be excused, sir?”

Dumbledore nodded, though there was a hint of disappointment in his blue eyes as Draco got up and all but ran through the door and down the staircase, not stopping until he was several halls from the Headmaster’s office. Leaning against the wall, he panted slightly. He was acutely aware of the mostly healed, pale marks lining his back as he slid down onto the floor and sat, staring at the stone wall in front of him.

His father loved him, he did. The only reason he caned him was because Draco didn’t know how to act like a Malfoy and that was very important.   If his father didn’t tell him how to act, didn’t show him when he was doing something wrong, how else was he supposed to know?

Putting his head on his knees he took deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. It was all perfectly standard, it was. _Then why had he felt the need to defend his father?_ Draco pushed the thought aside and stood up determinedly.

The Headmaster was just playing mind games with him, trying to get him to turn against his father, but he wouldn’t. His father was only doing what was best for him. Heading off towards the dungeon, he ignored the sudden feelings of uncertainty.

 

____________________

 

“Potter, this is horrible.”

That afternoon, Professor McGonagall had shown up and, after speaking with the Headmaster, had decided that it would be most pleasant to have both boys with her in the tower that summer. Secretly, Harry thought she was giving Snape a break before he snapped completely. It wouldn’t take much more, either. Harry had been treading on thin ice the last week. Any sudden movement, any noise above a whisper was considered an atrocity and it was getting so that Harry was afraid to even step out of his room in the morning, let alone eat breakfast.

He couldn’t imagine what had the Potions Master so bent out of shape, but he certainly wasn’t going to ask. Besides, now that he had been rescued from that horrid dungeon, he could sit back and relax. Well, almost.

Harry grit his teeth, “It’s not horrible, it’s cosy.”

“It’s small.” Draco sat on the little bed.  “Look at this, we’ll be practically back to back at night.”

“There’s a window.”

Draco rolled his eyes and flopped onto his back, reaching his hands over his head to grasp the other side of the bed, before giving a disgusted grunt and sitting up.  “Who cares about some stupid window? There’s hardly any room for my trunk.”

Giving up, Harry sat at his windowsill and looked out over the grounds enviously. He wanted to go outside and practice his flying, but Dumbledore had said that he couldn’t without supervision. Biting his lip, he considered asking Professor McGonagall, but she’d only just gotten back and he didn’t want to bother her so soon. He’d just have to wait until tomorrow.

Someone blew on the back of his neck and he turned abruptly, nearly slamming his head into Malfoy’s nose. The blonde was staring at him, a disturbingly familiar smirk on his pink lips. Harry shifted uncomfortably, “What?”

“Want to wank?” Draco watched in amusement as color spread from Harry’s cheeks to his ears and down his neck. He’d spent the whole of the school year lamenting that he couldn’t tease Potter about it when his friends were around. He’d found plenty of other things to tease him about of course, but the embarrassment on the other boy’s face when Draco mentioned _that_ was¼ well, there was just something entirely pleasant about the way he blushed.

“No!”

Shrugging nonchalantly, Draco sat back on the bed, his hands pressed into the covers. “Well, what do you want to do then? And so help me if you say ‘read’, I’ll shove you headfirst out that bloody window.”

Harry looked skeptical; the traces of his blush still visible, though fading. “I don’t know, what to do you want to do?”

Draco fought not to smile, “Wank.”

The blush returned full force. Draco couldn’t imagine what was so embarrassing about the prospect of wanking. It wasn’t like it was some forbidden dark magic or something. Everyone did it. In fact, in Slytherin, it wasn’t uncommon for people to do it in the shower, regardless of who was watching.

“God, Malfoy, you’re such a... pervert. Is that all you ever think about?”

Draco crossed his arms over his chest defensively, “At least I’m not a prude, like you.”

“I’m not a prude!” To be honest, Harry wasn’t really even sure what a prude was, but he denied it on principle.

“Then do it.”

It was quite obvious that Harry wasn’t going to be caught that easily this time. He pursed his mouth and returned the glare. “I am not in the mood. I can’t just get it up because you want to have a go.”

Draco threw himself back, “It’s not that difficult. God, Potter, you’d think you never have fantasies. You’re on the house team with that Spinet girl. She’s got some nice breasts and she plays Quidditch, so you know she’s got to be pretty flexible. And her legs...” He looked up to see Harry, who was half-hunched over, covering himself with his hands. “There, that wasn’t so hard, or is it?”

Harry knew it was a losing battle. He had tried desperately to keep his body from reacting, but there didn’t seem to be anything he could really do about it. To make matters worse, his hard-on had nothing to do with Alicia’s breasts - he’d never even really noticed those before – it had everything to do with Draco bloody Malfoy’s cock straining in his trousers, clear for the world to see, and that strangely husky voice he was using.

“Oh, damnit, Malfoy, fine.”

Draco didn’t bother to hide his self-satisfied smirk as Harry crossed the room, lay on the bed next to him and unfastening his trousers hastily. Of course, the only problem with it was that this bed really was much smaller than the one they shared in the dungeons. There they had been a good two or three feet apart and it had been easy to ignore the other boy’s presence in the bed, here they were practically shoulder-to-shoulder. Harry’s body heat made Draco feel more flushed than usual and somehow it made what they were doing feel more intimate.

Pushing the thoughts to the back of his head, he concentrated on the first thing he could think of that was not Potter related. Pansy. Yes, that was safe. She wasn’t pretty in the strictest sense of the word, but she was well bred and she’d let him touch her bare breast. It had been small and flat, with little nipples that stuck out slightly from the cold of the dorm room, but it was a breast.

Working his fist over himself, he continued to think about his thirty-second sojourn with Pansy's breast in an attempt to not concentrate on the way Harry’s elbow kept brushing against his arm, or the little puffing breathes that assaulted his ears and made his head tingle. God, there was something so wrong about this and he couldn’t imagine what it was, because he’d done it plenty of times with the other boys.

Harry went suddenly very still and Draco heard the repressed whimper that Potter wasn’t as good at hiding as he probably thought he was. He turned his focus back to himself and followed suit moments later. With a contented sigh, he let his hand flop bonelessly to the bed, ignoring the fact that it landed practically on top of Harry’s.

There was a blissful minute of silence, in which Draco pondered exactly why he was with Pansy anyway. She really wasn’t attractive at all, breeding aside; they didn’t get along in particular either, she annoyed him, and touching her breast hadn’t been all that great. He had other options; he was Draco Malfoy after all.

Then, in the middle of his realization that he could have anyone he bloody well wanted, Potter shot out of the bed, yanking his trousers up. “I... I’ve got homework.” His voice cracked and his face was white as a sheet.

Without another word, Potter shot out of the room, leaving a befuddled Draco listening to the sound of his feet padding quickly down the stairs and out of earshot. What had that been about?

____________________

 

Harry raced until he’d gotten to the portrait of the Fat Lady guarding the Gryffindor common room and then tried to pretend that he wasn’t in a hurry to get in. It always went over more smoothly when he acted courteous to her. Inside, the fire wasn’t lit, but the furniture was as inviting as ever and he quickly sank into one of the chairs and buried his head in the armrest. It was a disaster, a complete and utter disaster. He was gay.

It might have been better if he’d even suspected it before now, but he hadn’t, because he was stupid, stupid, stupid! Before school started, he’d thought girls were yucky and when the older boys ogled them, he brushed it aside as a grown-up thing that he would understand later and ever since then he just hadn’t been in a hurry to figure it out.

Of course, he should have suspected something was wrong when Katie Bell had walked through the changing room in only her towel, looking for her clothing (Fred and George had hidden them in the hopes that she would prance around starkers) and he hadn’t been even remotely interesting. He remembered the twins cat-calling her and Wood trying his best not to look, and Harry had smiled and pretended he found it amusing, but he hadn’t really cared.

Oh, bloody hell, what was he going to tell Ron? ‘Look, I know we’re best mates and all, but I’ve decided that what really gets me off is blokes’.  Then Ron would accuse him of having checked him out, which he hadn’t. He didn’t think of Ron like that. He hoped.

His head lifted slightly. Wait a minute. He didn’t think of Ron like that. In fact, other than Malfoy he couldn’t think of a single other boy who had ever gotten that reaction out of him. Maybe he wasn’t gay. Maybe it was just Malfoy. Cringing, he buried his head again. That was worse. Ron might forgive him for being gay, but finding Malfoy attractive? Never.

Slowly, Harry forced himself to uncurl in the chair and think about it calmly. Perhaps it was something else, something entirely explainable. He closed eyes and thought about the facts.

Fact one: He couldn’t think of a single girl that he thought of as blatantly attractive. Well, there were a lot of girls out there and it wasn’t like he had seen them all. So, he didn’t like breasts, big deal. Dudley had breasts and that certainly hadn’t turned him on.

Fact two: He’d gotten hard listening to Malfoy toss-off. Not that he’d ever listened to anyone else toss-off before. Ron and him were like brothers and he just couldn’t see anyone in Gryffindor tower deciding to whip it out and ask the others if they wanted to have a go. He imagined Neville’s face if Seamus ever did that and couldn’t help but laugh.

Until Malfoy, he’d never wanked off with another boy before. So, maybe that was just it. He wasn’t used to someone doing something so blatantly sexual in front of him. Opening his eyes, he stared up at the high ceiling. Would it be so bad if he was gay? Well, as long as he wasn’t attracted to Malfoy, anyway.

With a contented sigh, Harry stood up and looked into the empty fireplace. There really wasn’t anything he could do about it at the moment though, not unless he wanted to ask Professor Flitwick or Snape if they’d get naked and let him see what he thought of it. Shuddering, Harry tried to shake that thought out of his head. He’d just have to deal with Malfoy for now; he’d worry about being gay later.

____________________

 

Draco pouted at the dinner table that evening. Professor McGonagall was a horrid woman. She had not only had something called ‘hotdogs’ sent up for dinner, but she expected him to eat them. They were messy, they looked funny and they were meant to be eaten with _hands_. He couldn’t even begin to describe the horror he felt as he’d held the squishy bread in his hand and looked at the darkened sausage sandwiched in it.

Harry had smiled delightedly of course, and immediately reached for thick red sauce to pour on it before shoving nearly half the thing in his mouth at one time. Draco watched ketchup roll off the end of the hotdog and onto Harry’s plate. That was just disgusting. How could any self respecting Professor consider this food?

He looked at the plain hotdog in his hands. Well, he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten much that day and he’d been up at three in the morning. Taking a deep breath, he put the tip of it in his mouth and bit down. Juice from the sausage spilled into his mouth. It was... not bad. He took another tentative bite, this time making sure to get some of the sweetened bread as well. It was actually quite good.

The ketchup bottle was thrust next to his plate and he saw Harry grinning at him impishly. “You’ll like it.”

McGonagall was smiling tersely from her seat across from them, and Draco got the impression she was holding back. “Now, Harry, I’m sure Draco can decide what he likes.” Harry shrugged, nonplussed, and went back to devouring his own hotdog.

Draco, however, was taking another look at the table. There were two kinds of mustard and mayonnaise in little bowls, a shaker of vinegar, and a plate that had pickles and onions piled on it. While Harry seemed to prefer catsup only, McGonagall had put onion on hers and then sprinkled it with vinegar.

At Malfoy Manor, and indeed at Hogwarts during the school year, the food was prepared and eaten as was, without the need for any additives. The Professor picked up a knife and fork and began dissected the food, but Draco thought this looked just about as dignified as eating it with hands. The bites were big and clumsy.

Finally, he settled on eating his plain and with his hands, taking small, controlled bites. By the time he’d started on his second one, Harry had already finished his and was sitting back in his chair, a contented smile on his lips. “Professor, may I be excused?”

McGonagall nodded, “Go and wash your hands.” Harry darted into the nearby bathroom and then up the stairs to his room. McGonagall’s suite was as different from Snape’s as she was. The door opened into a sitting room that had a large sofa and two chairs facing the fire. To the left of the fireplace was a narrow set of stairs that twisted around at the top and led up to Harry’s room; to the right were two doors, leading to a bathroom and her bedroom. On the other side of the sofa there were three elongated, narrow windows and a thick wooden table with three chairs. The room absolutely reeked of old things, like the antique shops his mother dragged him to on occasion.

He swallowed the last of his hotdog and patted his face with his napkin. “May I be excused, Professor?”

She smiled pleasantly enough, but he couldn’t help feeling suspicious and ill at ease. “Of course Draco, don’t forget to wash your hands.”

The bathroom was as dated as the rest of the suite. However, now he noticed something that he had not before. The pictures hanging on the wall of the bathroom, and most likely the ones in the other rooms as well, were muggle. The edges were frayed brown and the pictures themselves were mostly black and white and hard to make out the details of, but they were most certainly not moving.

He wiped his hands on a fluffy yellow towel and quickly exited, trying not to look discomfited with his surroundings.   Harry was lying on the bed when he got back, playing a game of cards with an unruly deck that kept muttering things like ‘no, not me, use him next!’ Harry looked up and raised an eyebrow, “You want to join me?”

Slowly, Draco nodded and took a seat next to Harry on the small bed.

 

____________________

 

The only thing positive that Draco had to say about Harry’s room was that it had its own private bathroom. It wasn’t very big, but it negated the need for him to traipse through McGonagall’s living room first thing in the morning in only a robe so that he could have a shower and get dressed. Draco would have told Harry this, but the little sod seemed to be determined to sleep in. The harder Draco pushed at him to wake up, the more deeply he burrowed under the covers, until not even the top of his dark, messy hair could be seen.

Having given that up, Draco plodded down the stairs to see about getting something to eat. Professor McGonagall, it seemed, did not have the same trepidations about morning robes as he did. He found her sitting at the table, in her nightgown, a robe, and a pair of slippers, eating a biscuit with jam on it and reading the Daily Prophet.

She looked up from the paper, “Good morning, Draco, I trust you slept well?” He nodded. “Have a seat, there’s plenty to eat. I’m sure Harry will be down shortly.”

The informality of it all was shocking enough, but as if that wasn’t enough, he’d barely sat down when the sound of someone coming down the stairs told him that he’d succeeded in waking Harry up. He revised that to ‘almost wake Harry up’ when the other boy came around the corner, because ‘up’ wasn’t exactly how he would describe him.

Harry was wearing his mismatched pajamas and hadn’t even bothered to put a robe or slippers on. His bare feet were half covered by the maroon fabric that he trodden on without noticing. His eyes were only half open and his hair was flying around in all directions, even going so far as to defy gravity all together and stick straight up in places.

The dark haired boy sat at the table and stared at it, blinking at the food blearily. Professor McGonagall smiled and pushed a glass of juice towards the boy, “Good morning, Harry.”

Harry mumbled back and picked up the glass, drinking a large gulp of it and putting it down. “Time’s it?”

“Nine.”

Harry stood back up, lifting his shirt slightly to scratch at his abdomen. “’M going back to bed.”

Draco scoffed, but McGonagall just nodded and watched him retreat. She turned the Draco after the door had closed upstairs. “He’ll be back down in about ten minutes.”

And ten minutes later Harry appeared, still in his nightclothes and bare feet, but looking much more awake. Draco couldn’t help but think that if Harry had acted that way around Snape, he’d have been flogged. Draco had already nearly finished his breakfast and was looking out the window while Harry shoved biscuits and sausages into his mouth, not bothering with order or etiquette.

“How are you boys feeling today?”

Draco looked at McGonagall, stunned slightly by having been spoken to at the table. His father didn’t speak until after the table had been cleared and they were sipping warm, after-dinner tea. “I’m well.”

Harry shrugged, mouth full and McGonagall smiled, “Professor Snape said that the two of you enjoyed flying with each other a great deal, so I’ve asked Professor Flitwick to take you out to the pitch as soon as you’re ready.”

Harry’s eyes lit up and he swallowed thickly, shoving the last of his biscuit into his mouth before bolting back up the stairs, presumably to get dressed. He re-emerged only minutes later, hair wet and still tucking his shirt in. “Can we go?”

“Go and let Professor Flitwick know you’re ready.” McGonagall had barely finished when Harry grabbed Draco’s hand and rushed out the door. She stuck her head out the door, “Be careful!”

It took Draco two hallways and a flight of stairs to shake himself free, but Harry didn’t slow down and he had to trot to catch up. “What’s your big hurry?”

That stopped him. Harry turned around, “Don’t you want to go flying?”

“Well, yes, but...”

“Then come on. Who knows how long they’ll give us before we have to come back in.”

Draco had never seen Harry so excited, at least not during summer. During the school year, when he was with his friends, Potter was always laughing and seemed interested enough with what was going on, but there was always an air of worry about him, like he expected something to jump out around every corner. But there had been a few times when he’d been absolutely genuinely happy, like when he’d just won at Quidditch, or when he ate a chocolate treacle tart. He faltered, since when had he known what Harry looked like when he ate... well, anything, let alone chocolate treacle tart?

Harry stopped outside a large door on the second floor landing and knocked firmly. Professor Flitwick, their dwarf-sized Charm’s teacher, came out of his rooms, fully dressed and as bouncy as ever. “Come on, boys, I’m sure you’re very eager to get on the pitch.”

Draco had never been overly fond of Professor Flitwick, but then he hadn’t actively disliked him. That afternoon however, he decided that he would have to up Flitwick’s status to annoyance. The Snitch had been set lose so that they could chase it and every time Draco tried to get the upper hand, Flitwick would call time out and lecture him on fair play. They weren’t flying very high and it wasn’t as if Potter wouldn’t survive the fall.

Eventually, Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore had ventured onto the field and Harry had nose dived towards the ground, pulled up at the last minute and jumped off in a great show of what Draco assumed he thought was skill. Draco, however, preferred the more dignified approach and simply lowered himself down before dismounting.

Dumbledore smiled at Harry proudly, “You are very good at that, Harry.” Then looked up at Draco, “As are you.” Draco shifted uncomfortably under the gaze. “However, I am going to have cut this afternoon short, I’m afraid. Professor Flitwick is needed.”

McGonagall, now dressed in long dark robes that befit her status as professor, looked down at them with a slight smile, “Harry, why don’t you take Draco down to visit with Hagrid for an hour or so before heading back to the castle?”

Harry nodded and started off in the direction of the broom shed. The Professors left, talking among themselves. “Potter.”

Harry turned around, his cheeks were still red with excursion. “Yes?”

Draco shoved his broom into the shack and crossed his arms over his chest. He wanted to ask why it was that Harry followed their instructions without question when he couldn’t stop himself from glaring at Snape long enough to listen, but he couldn’t really think of how to word it without seeming nosey. “Are we really going to see that great oaf?”

“Professor, now,” Harry wasn’t at all taken aback by Draco having called Hagrid a ‘great oaf’, “and, yes, we are. I’ve got to ask him what he’ll be teaching, after all.”

Draco followed, frowning at the back of Harry’s head. He’d figure out Potter eventually, it was just going to be a little more complicated than he’d thought.

 

____________________

 

Hagrid, it turned out, was going to teach Care of Magical Creatures, which was a bloody shame because Draco had already signed up for it. After choking down some of the worst tea that he had ever had, the two of them had spent the rest of the day in the bedroom, playing chess and cards. Harry tried to teach him a muggle card game called Switch, but it was muggle and therefore hopelessly stupid.

The next morning it was McGonagall who had taken them out to the pitch and Draco had been forced to admit that he was impressed with her ability to handle a broom. It wasn’t on the level of, say, himself, but it wasn’t bad. The day after that it was Trelawney, who spent the entire time saying that she had foreseen disaster befall them and hiding under the stands. The day after that it was Hagrid, who played fetch with Fang while they flew overhead. Then it was back to Flitwick. Snape, however, never made an appearance.

After every session of Quidditch, they were ushered back inside, where Potter would immediately go to their room and cosy up with a book or a game that Draco would eventually join him in. Then, at night, there was the wanking. Either Draco had succeeded in convincing Potter that not masturbating nightly would do irreparable damage, or Harry was enjoying it more than he let on. Every night he had to be coaxed, though it took less each time.

The routine was both frightfully boring and exciting at the same time. Two weeks flew by and Draco had to wonder when Potter had become such good company. He refused to believe that it was simply because Snape wasn’t around, but it seemed that without the overbearing Potion’s Master breathing down his neck, Harry was more energetic, more willing to do what Draco wanted, and... well, happier. He smiled all the time, even when Hagrid was the only one waiting for him in the kitchens on his birthday. Draco found that he resented Potter’s cheerfulness, though he wasn’t sure why.

Then their routine was broken by rain. It wasn’t uncommon for it to rain during the summer and Potter didn’t particularly seem to mind, but Draco did. What was he supposed to do with his day if he couldn’t try to beat Potter at Quidditch?

Harry seemed to think that talking was the solution. He sat at his desk that morning, looking at Draco over the edge of his book for nearly ten minutes, before putting it down. “So, what options are you taking next year?”

Draco frowned and looked up from the game of muggle solitaire he was trying to be interested in. “Arithmancy, Runes and Care of Magical Creatures. You?”

“Divination and Care of Magical Creatures.”

Draco scoffed, “Divination is rubbish.”

Harry picked the book back up, obviously bored with the conversation, “Hermione’s taking it, so it can’t be a complete waste of time.”

“Mark my words, Potter, that smart-arse little mudblood will drop that class faster than a...”

The next moment, he had a wand at his neck and Potter’s book was on the floor, forgotten. “Don’t you ever call her that again.”

Reluctantly, Draco nodded, mostly because his own wand was sitting on the bedside table nearly five feet away. He was very vividly reminded of a time, during the school year, when he had called the girl a mudblood and ended up on the wrong end of the Weasel’s wand. Well, it would have been the wrong end if the thing had been working, thankfully it wasn’t. But Potter hadn’t reacted at all that time. Half the bloody Gryffindor team had been jumping at his throat, but perfect Potter had just stood there, looking very confused.

Ah. “Finally figured out what that means, Potter?”

Harry’s mouth opened, but Draco couldn’t be sure what he was going to say because at that moment, McGonagall’s voice rang up the stairs and into the room. “It’s lunch time, boys, wash your hands and hurry down.”

Slowly, Harry put his wand down and Draco stood up with a huff, storming down the stairs to eat whatever atrocity the house elves had brought up this time.

 

____________________

 

Harry was refusing to speak to him again and none of the professors seemed willing to step in and make him. McGonagall tried half-heartedly, during the first twelve hours, pulling Harry aside and asking what Draco had said to upset him so much. To Draco’s relief, Harry wouldn’t tell her. Looking around her living room, he got the feeling that Professor McGonagall would frown upon that particular word.

It had been two days since the fight and ‘ _Professor’_ Hagrid was supervising them while Harry played fetch with Fang and Draco watched with disinterest. Hagrid had stepped out of earshot and Draco pulled all of his nerve together to force himself to say it, because he didn’t really think he meant it, but he couldn’t stand the boredom and loneliness any longer. At least when he was at home his mother was willing to talk to him. “I’m sorry.”

Harry stopped in mid throw, his arm still bent behind his head. “Say it again.”

Draco grit his teeth, “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Harry threw the stick and Fang went after it, tripping over his own overly large paws in his excitement.

“Why does it matter?” Harry didn’t answer. “Oh, fine, I’m sorry because it wasn’t a terribly polite thing to say. I suppose I’ll have to stick to muggleborn from now on.”

Fang dropped the stick back at Harry’s feet and he picked it up again, studying a knot on the bark.   “You should be sorry because being muggleborn isn’t an insult and you’re making it one. We’re all wizards, either way.” Draco couldn’t think up a proper response to that. In his opinion, it was very much an insult. Harry, thank Merlin, didn’t need one. With a hefty sigh, he held the stick out towards Draco, “Go on, it’s more fun than it looks.”

Draco took the stick, surprised by the weight of it and threw it as hard as he could, which turned out to be a great deal further than Harry. Harry smiled at him ruefully, “You’re not too bad at that. Have you ever played Frisbee?”

“What’s Frisbee and why would I play it?”

A belt of genuine laughter ripped through the slightly smaller boy and Harry stood up, “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Fang dropped the stick at Draco’s feet and he sneered at the lumbering dog before picking the stick up again and throwing it, deciding as he watched the dog pant after the large piece of bark feverishly, that while he might never tell Harry, fetch wasn’t such a bad game after all.

 

____________________

 

Frisbee was like chasing the Snitch, only you couldn’t fly and someone was throwing it at your head. All in all, he couldn’t say that he liked it very much. Especially seeing as Harry managed to hit him twice and he’d mussed his perfectly gelled hair so badly that he couldn’t manage to get it to lay flat again.

He was still desperately sore about his hair when McGonagall called them down for dinner. Only it wasn’t dinner, Dumbledore was standing in the middle of the room, talking to the Professor with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. Draco came to a halt at the bottom the stairs and then fell to his knees as Harry slammed into him from behind.

“What the blo...” Harry stopped cursing at Draco as he saw Dumbledore. With a tense smile, he helped the blonde the stand up. “Hello, Headmaster, what are you doing here?”

Dumbledore’s smile didn’t waver in the least. “I’ve come to invite you all to have dinner with the other professors and myself in the Great Hall. I think I’ve even managed to convince Professor Trelawney to descend from the rafters.” Harry laughed, but Draco wasn’t sure why this was so funny, he’d only met her once and she seemed more annoying than amusing.

“I think, however, that you should go change your clothes first.” Harry looked down at his shirt, covered in mud and wrinkled from being outside that afternoon. “Draco however, appears to be in fine dress. I believe I shall escort him there myself and wait for you and Professor McGonagall to arrive.”

Before Draco could protest, he was being ushered gently, but firmly out the door by the Headmaster. It closed behind them and he found himself once again alone with the man his father had warned him to avoid. “Well, Draco, shall we go?”

Draco nodded and followed. At first, he tried to keep a moderate distance, but when he slowed the Headmaster did as well. However, he also didn’t want to seem hurried, so he settled on a moderate pace, hoping that Dumbledore didn’t have anything to say. He wasn’t so lucky.

“I almost fear that I do not wish to ask you this, but old fools do as they must.” Draco very nearly blushed, remembering the number of times he had called Dumbledore an ‘old fool’. “How are you and Mr. Potter getting on this summer?”

Draco shrugged, “Well enough.”

“Better than last year?”

“Yes, I suppose.” Last year they had managed to get into a fistfight less than an hour after he’d arrived. This year they were almost... well, friendly with each other.

Dumbledore’s eyes gave a particularly bright twinkle, which alarmed Draco greatly, but he couldn’t very well take back what he’d said. The door to the Great Hall opened as they approached and Draco found himself staring at a very brightly decorated room.

Streamers of all colours were floating around a large table in the centre of the room where the professors sat, anxiously looking at the door. Well, all except for Professor Snape, who was sitting with his arms folded over his chest, sneering in distaste. A large banner reading ‘Happy Birthday, Harry’ was flying overhead, occasionally changing colours and doing loops in the air. The table had been covered in a thick red cloth that shimmered under the star covered ceiling and there were party hat on every plate.

With a hand on his back, Draco was pushed through into the room and made to sit next to Professor Trelawney, who kept eyeing him sympathetically. Dumbledore took his seat and the waited. Snape didn’t move the entire time, nor did his glare waiver. Draco was just beginning to feel edgy when the doors opened and Professor McGonagall entered, followed by a stunned Harry Potter, who stopped in the entranceway and stared, open mouthed, at the room.

Dumbledore stood up, his arms open, “Welcome Harry, and Happy Birthday.”

 

____________________

 

It seemed that Dumbledore had not forgotten Harry’s birthday, as he had thought, but had simply been detained by a conference with the Minister that had gone very badly that morning. Fudge wanted to station Dementors at Hogwarts and Dumbledore did not approve. Since he had been unable to join Harry on his actual birthday, Dumbledore had designed a sort of party for him. According to Harry, later that night, it had been his first one ever.

“But, with the muggles, didn’t they...”

“The Dursleys hated me, I was lucky to get a sock for my birthday, let alone a party.” Harry sighed happily, lying on the bed with his arms over his head. “I used to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs, I was lucky to get a few slices of bacon in the morning, I had to cook for my family, and I didn’t look forward to anything, let alone my birthday. Now, I have my own room, I get to eat as much as I want, the house elves clean up after me and cook for me, and I get to learn magic and have friends and... and I get a birthday party with cake and everything.”

Draco had turned his head to stare at Harry, but other boy didn’t even seem to notice. “You slept in a _cupboard_ under the _stairs_?”

Harry’s smile wavered, but only slightly, “Hm. There were spiders in there and it was dark, especially at night and when Uncle Vernon was mad at me, he’d lock me in for days without food and only let me out to use the bathroom.” He looked over at Draco very suddenly, a glint of shame in his eyes “You’ll not tell anyone, will you? Not even Ron knows.”

For half a second, Draco wanted to mock him. Then he blinked. He blinked and behind his eyes he saw the haunted expression on Harry’s face when he’d been locked in the storeroom two year ago, the way he had not eaten after and the nightmares he’d had. His mind flashed with the half mumbled words that he’d heard so often in the dark, “Sorry”, “I don’t know”, and, most commonly, “Please, Uncle Vernon.” Could he really mock him after knowing all that? More importantly, could he really pass up the chance to know something about Potter that even his precious Weasel didn’t?

“Fine, but you owe me.”

The smile returned, “Thanks, Malfoy.” Harry turned around on his side and tucked his arms under his head, falling asleep in only minutes. Draco, however, stayed up much later.

 

____________________

 

The next morning looked ominous and Professor McGonagall suggested they stay in. Draco wasn’t upset about this in the least, as he’d been up much of the night, thinking about what Harry had said. Not that he would be willing to admit it to anyone, but he suddenly felt very guilty about having gotten Harry into so much trouble in the past. He didn’t want to feel guilty though, he wanted to feel annoyed and angry, he wanted to go back to being the way he was only a few short hours ago.

There was still a little over a week to go before he went home and Draco was feeling more and more anxious with every passing minute. He’d wrung his hands the entire game of Exploding Snap, and he’d nearly chewed him lip entirely off while trying to play chess, which he’d lost and now his lip was bleeding and...

“Malfoy, what is your problem?”

Draco’s head shot up and he sneered, because everyone had their default expressions and that was his. “What do you mean, Potter?”

“You’ve hardly been paying attention all day.” Draco didn’t answer, though he allowed his sneer to deepen. “Is this about last night? You said you wouldn’t say anything…”

There was a warning in Harry’s voice as he trailed off and Draco rolled his eyes, “Come off it, Potter, I said I wouldn’t tell.”

“You also said I owed you one. What if you decide that you’d rather just make fun of me in front of the entire school than have me do you a favour?”

Draco opened his mouth to tell him that, for the last time, he wasn’t going to blab, when it occurred to him that Potter was right. Not that Draco intended to, but the realisation that Harry thought he might, had the potential to be great fun. “I suppose you’ll just have to keep me happy then.”

He started to set the board back up again while Harry fumed, “Come on, Malfoy, ask me to do something.”

Draco scoffed, “Malfoy’s don’t throw away favours like that. You owe me and I intend to collect, but not until I know what it is I want.”

Harry leaned on his hands and knees over the board, causing the pieces to slide off it and onto the bed, “There has to be something you want that I can do. Anything.”

With a sigh, Draco leaned back against the headboard and crossed his arms over his chest in as Snapish a manner as he could. He wanted Harry to drop it, because at that moment he was feeling charitable and he didn’t think he wanted to make Harry buy his silence with favors. Unfortunately, the stubborn set of Harry’s face told him that this wasn’t an option. Maybe if he asked him to do something he simply wouldn’t do... Draco perked up when he remembered what he’d caught some of the seventh year boys doing in the bathroom last year. Surely, Potter wouldn’t do _that_.

“All right, Potter, toss me off.”

Harry blanched, “Excuse me?”

“Lie down, take out my penis, and give it a go.”

Harry’s teeth worried his lower lip and Draco sat, smug in the assurance that Prude-Potter wouldn’t dare do it. Then, Harry nodded, “Fine.”

Without another word, the Gryffindor reached forward to undo his trousers and Draco scurried back a foot. “Wait, I wasn’t finished.” Harry stopped, looking at him with his eyes slit suspiciously. Oh, bloody hell, how was he going to get out of this? “Um... I have to do it to you too.” There, Potter couldn’t possibly be okay with the idea of Draco touching him there.

Harry paused, frozen on the spot for all of two, long seconds before he shrugged. “How do you want to do it?”

Bugger. Draco almost said he didn’t know, but quickly realized how ignorant that would make him look and he didn’t want to feel ignorant in front of Potter, especially not on something like this. “Lie down beside me.”

Harry stretched out on the bed, his elbow resting uncomfortably against Draco’s side. After a few deep, calming breaths, Draco felt the other boy moving to undo his own trousers and had to force himself to do the same, because he didn’t want to look nervous. Fortunately, Potter was concentrating very hard on the ceiling, or he might have seen how badly Draco’s hands were shaking.

Unbuttoning his trousers, he didn’t push them down, but instead pulled his very limp penis out and moved his hand away to let Harry wrap his fingers around it. They were cold and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from making any particularly undignified noises. Closing his eyes, he tried to think of something that would get him aroused while Harry began moving his hand and adjusting his grip experimentally.

He thought about Pansy’s breasts, when she’d lost the bet and he’d made her show him. She wasn’t much to look at overall, but her breasts were nice. Small, but nice. Not working. He switched gears and thought about one of the seventh year Slytherin girls he’d managed to peak a look at in the shower. Now she’d been nicely built, with perky tits and a slim waste. Water had been trickling down her body and falling onto the floor with little pats against the tile. Tacky bit of tile, it was too, he wondered who had chosen it.

Bad news, it wasn’t working. Good news, apparently it didn’t have to. His penis didn’t seem to know the difference between masturbating himself and having someone else do it for him. Harry stopped moving and Draco opened his eyes, looking over at him, prepared to make a vicious comment about whether he’d said he could stop, but found himself so close to Harry’s bright green eyes that he couldn’t manage to breathe, let alone speak. Harry found his voice first, “Aren’t you going to... you know?”

Draco bit back a gulp and nodded, turning his head back towards the ceiling and reaching his hand out nervously. It felt like his and didn’t at the same time. Harry was circumcised, as Draco was, and by the feel of it, he wasn’t much bigger around than Draco, but there was something disconcerting about the hard heat of it in his hand and the way Harry’s breath hitched when he started moving.

Trying to concentrate on his own pleasure and not think about the fact that it was Harry’s hand and not his own doing it, he began to stroke in earnest, hoping to end this as quickly as possible. It wasn’t long before he felt the familiar tightness in his balls and he let out a strangled moan as he came, vaguely aware that Harry was doing the same next to him.

It took several moments of panting for Draco to come back to himself and when he finally did, the first thing he became aware of was something warm and wet on his hand. Letting go of Potter, he looked at the cum-covered fingers and sneered, “Oh, that’s just lovely, Potter. I’ll never be able to look at my hand the same way again.”

Harry frowned and stood up, shoving himself back into his trousers and wiping the sticky residue on his shirt before pulling it off. “Like you were any better.” He went to the wardrobe and took another shirt out, not bothering to pick up the one he’d left on the floor. So, we’re even?”

Draco sighed and nodded, still looking at his hand and trying to determine what it could have done.   Was it possible to get a disease through his hand? “Yes, fine, we’re even. Could you get me a washcloth?”

He was so busy looking at his hand that he didn’t see the towel flying towards him until it had hit his hand, knocking it into his face. With a cry of outrage, Draco threw the towel off, but Potter was gone and the door was slamming shut behind him. Wiping his hand and face off, Draco tossed the towel on the floor and went into the bathroom to do a more thorough cleaning, trying to ignore the incessant little voice in the back of his mind, asking when the hell they were going to do that again?

 

____________________

 

Dumbledore had lost the battle of whether Dementors would be allowed at the school. Of course, Harry said that he had more conceded than lost, but Draco refused to hear any of it. Two days before he was scheduled to leave, McGonagall informed them at breakfast that they were not to go outside that day or the next, as the Dementors were walking the school grounds, trying to locate any trace of Sirius Black. They would do the castle itself the week before school started, at which time Harry would be going to stay at the Leaky Cauldron, as the Weasleys were still in Egypt.

Draco was secretly jealous of Harry, though he would never have admitted it, especially when they were informed that Minister Fudge would be personally escorting Harry. Harry, however, did not seem in the least impressed, but in fact, looked worried, afraid that he had done something wrong. He lightened considerably at the reassurance that he’d done nothing and that the Minister simply wanted to have a word with him.

After breakfast that morning, Draco thought they would spend the day in their room, but Harry grabbed a few things out of his trunk and told Draco that he was welcome to come if he wanted. He didn’t even wait for Draco to ask what it was they were doing before darting out the bedroom door.

Getting up from the bed where he had sat while Harry rummaged, he hurried after the other boy. Harry may have been smaller than Draco but he was damned quick when he wanted to be. They went three flights up, climbed a rickety ladder, and went through an old beat up door, “Careful not to close that, Malfoy, it only opens from the inside,” before Draco found himself standing on the top of the AstronomyTower while Harry went through his bag, pulling out things.

There was a book called ‘Demented Dementors’, a pair of binoculars, a thick rain cloak, and two very mashed sandwiches that had quite obviously been made the day before. “What are you doing, Potter?”

Harry looked up, as if surprised to see Draco standing there. “Professor McGonagall said the dementors were going to be walking around the school grounds today and I wanted to get a look at them.”

Draco frowned, “Why ever for? They’re just... creatures in long black cloaks that suck out all your happy memories.”

“I know that. I just want to see.” Sitting on the edge of the tower, Harry put the binoculars to his face and began scanning the grounds.

“Do you expect we’ll be here all day?”

He shrugged, “Don’t know, depends on where they start, doesn’t it?”

An hour later, Draco didn’t much care where they started, as long as they got within view soon. He had skimmed the whole of the book Harry brought, reading about the affects and the visage of the Dementors, and the various statistics of how long it took people to go insane when they were continually exposed to them. He’d taken his turn with the binoculars, but hadn’t been able to see anything of interest, except the tops of the trees of the Forbidden Forest, where an occasional glimpse of something might be visible. He’d even forced down half a sandwich, which turned out to be the most disgusting mix of peanut butter and celery.

He was on the verge of demanding that Harry at least go and get something for him to play, when an excited cry startled him. “There it is!”

Draco immediately came over, his curiosity dampening his boredom. Harry was staring intently at the creature, “It’s so dark and it glides, just like the book said it would.

“Let me have a go."

Harry passed over the binoculars, but did not stop staring. Draco looked through them at the dark creature sweeping over the grounds. Something about it was so innately dangerous, so terrifying, that Draco couldn’t even begin to put it into words. Perhaps it was that he knew what they were and being awed by the way they moved just didn’t occur to him.

He was about to pass it over and suggest that they go inside, when the thing slowly turned its head towards them. “Um, Potter, they aren’t searching the castle today, right?”

“Right.”

There was something wrong with Harry’s voice, but Draco couldn’t be bothered with that now, because the Dementor seemed to be floating up and towards them. “This is part of the castle, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, why is it coming this way?”

Harry didn’t respond and Draco put the binoculars down and looked over, now ready to full out demand that they go back in. He was stopped when he saw Harry. His face was white as a sheet and getting whiter if that were possible. His eyes were glassy and his mouth was hanging slightly open. “Potter?”

A roaring filled his own ears and cold washed over him. He looked up to see the Dementor hovering only a few feet away, its hooded head staring at Harry. Draco closed his eyes, but the roaring only intensified and he thought he could hear something now. It sounded like yelling. Stumbling to his feet, he took hold of Harry’s arm and pulled him off the wall, but the other boy didn’t standing up, only sat there, staring at the creature, tears now running down his cheeks and his mouth moving just slightly.

The presence of shouting grew louder and he recognized it as his father, telling him that he was a disgrace to the Malfoy name, that no Malfoy in their entire family line had ever embarrassed themselves as badly as he had. But he hadn’t meant to, he’d only wanted to beat Potter at Quidditch, at a test, at _anything_.

His grip on Potter’s shirt tightened and he tried to remember that he was here, at the top of the Astronomy Tower and that it was the Dementor doing this, but he just couldn’t. A loud banging caught his attention and he looked up to the see Professor Dumbledore, followed by McGonagall, storming out of the castle, looked murderous.

The yelling stopped, the dampening depression eased and he felt hands take him by the shoulder and lead him away from the tower, whispering in a familiar clipped tone. He looked back before going down the ladder and saw McGonagall kneeling beside Potter, who was unconscious and Dumbledore holding his wand out, something white streaming towards the retreating Dementor.

Snape, because he’d realized that was who was leading him away, helped him down the ladder and he took deep breaths, acutely aware that there was something wet on his face. He wiped at it and looked at his hand. Tears. Had he been crying? He was steered through the door and into the hall. He didn’t know where they were going and he didn’t care, because all he could think about was what he had read in that book, ‘the Dementors bring out your worst memories’. His father had been his worst memory and he couldn’t even begin to defend against it.

 

____________________

 

Lucius Malfoy was livid; Draco had never seen him this upset. Snape had escorted Draco to the dungeon, given him some chocolate and floo-ed his father immediately, reciting what Draco was sure he had thought was a good enough excuse. The boys hadn’t been obeying orders. They were told to stay inside the castle and Potter had somehow convinced Draco to do otherwise and the Dementors, sensing prey, had attacked.

It really was a good excuse and, for once, it was the truth. Not that Draco had needed a great deal of coaxing, but he hadn’t come up the idea to perch on the AstronomyTower and look out for dangerous creatures on the grounds bellow. Did Harry know they could fly like that? Draco had never seen anything about Dementors flying.

Lucius didn’t wait for any more of an explanation before he began bellowing at Severus in a rather undignified manner about how it had been his responsibility to keep Draco from harm and how dare he let something like this happen. Where had he been while the boy was off gallivanting around the castle? For that matter, where were any of them? How dare they leave his child unsupervised when there were Dementors in the nearby vicinity.

Draco sat on the sofa, his face pink in embarrassment. If he’d realized that it would have gotten him into this much trouble, he wouldn’t have gone with Harry, or he’d have talked him out of it.

“...will be by to pick him up tonight.”

His father’s head abruptly disappeared and Snape was left standing in the middle of the now very silent room. After several seconds, he raked his fingers through his hair and sighed, “Go and get your things together.”

Draco frowned, but said nothing as he left the room. He should be happy he was going home, shouldn’t he? It was boring at Hogwarts with only Harry and a handful of ghosts to keep him occupied. He reached the ground floor and looked up the stairs leading to the tower where he was supposed to be headed, but something was nagging at him.

A momentary flash of Harry went through his mind, his limp form lying unconscious in the AstronomyTower with Professor McGonagall holding a hand to his cheek, trying to pry open one of his eyes. The image was unaccompanied by an unfamiliar pang in the bowels of his stomach, not entirely unlike the first time he fell off his broom.

He eyed the stairs resentfully. He wasn’t concerned about Potter, he couldn’t be. He was supposed to be gaining Harry’s friendship so that he could use it against him at some still unknown date. No, actually, he wasn’t even supposed to be doing that anymore, he was just trying to get through the summer without killing that obnoxious, do-gooder Gryffindor.

He marched up the stairs determinedly, refusing to even look in the direction of the infirmary, mumbling, “Absolutely not,” even though no one was around to hear, because he thought that perhaps if he said it enough times, he could convince himself that it was true.

 

____________________

 

By the time he was standing outside waiting for his father, Draco had made a startling discovery. He was concerned about Harry. Very concerned. He’d almost managed to convince himself otherwise, but when he’d stepped outside the door with Professor Snape and seen Harry standing there, still very pale despite several hours of rest, all of his carefully placed delusions had been utterly shattered.

Now however, he faced another dilemma. What if someone else found out? He glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw Harry looking at him. What if Harry found out? How could he face him knowing that Harry knew? Draco forced a sneer on his face, “Still weak in the knees, Potter?”

Harry’s eyes widened in anger and he opened his mouth to say something, but Snape spoke before he could, “About time.”

Still angry, Harry looked up and saw the Malfoy carriage approaching, as overly lavish as ever. Harry couldn’t believe Draco could be such an absolutely prat. Well, no, he could believe it, he’d had just hoped that maybe there was more to the other boy than that, but apparently not.

When he’d woken at the top of the Astronomy Tower Dumbledore and McGonagall had been standing over him, speaking in hushed tones.

“That was a vicious attack, Albus. You can’t possibly allow those things to stay. Why, if you hadn’t sent that house elf to watch after them we might not have made it here in time.”

“I quite agree with you, Minerva.”

“Or he could have fallen. You heard the house elf, if the Malfoy boy hadn’t grabbed him when he did, Harry could have...”

“Minerva.” Dumbledore put a hand on her shoulder. His eyes held no twinkle as they watched the pale woman in front of him.   Harry had never seen Professor McGonagall so upset, not even when he’d told her that Snape had hit him.

Dumbledore’s eyes flickered to Harry for a moment and Harry thought he saw the mouth upturn just slightly before the Headmaster looked back at Professor McGonagall.

The hand on her shoulder moved to her cheek and she blushed just slightly under her cheeks, “Minerva, the boy is fine and I have every intention of speaking with the Minister about this.   Now, I believe that Harry has woken up and could use some chocolate.”

It had all been very disconcerting. He didn’t remember being pulled off the AstronomyTower by Draco, all he’d been aware of was someone screaming and an eerie maniacal laughter, then everything had gone black. Wait, had Professor McGonagall just blushed when the Headmaster touch her cheek? Why was Dumbledore touching her cheek, anyway? He’d never seen him do that with any of the other teachers.   Wait a minute, there had been a house elf watching after them?!

The chocolate had made him feel better though, and all thoughts of house elves and Dumbledore touching people were washed from his thoughts. Instead, he was left with an unwelcome feeling of gratitude for Draco having pulled him off the tower when he did, because if he thought really hard, he thought maybe he had been about to fall.

He’d resigned that he would thank Malfoy and had been just about to do it when the stupid prat had opened his mouth and made fun of him for fainting. Well that was just fine then, wasn’t it, because Harry didn’t want to thank him anyway.

The carriage stopped in front of them and Lucius stepped out, his shoulders a little broader than normal and his gaze more direct, aimed at Severus. “Good evening, Severus.”

Snape nodded and, much to his credit, did not cringe, because Harry thought he certainly would have if that tone had been aimed at him. “Lucius, as you can see, the boy is fine.”

“No thanks to you lot.”

Severus sighed deeply, obviously annoyed with the conversation before it had even started, “I’ve told you already, Lucius, they were being watched by a house elf and the Headmaster was informed the moment it became clear that something was amiss.”

“You were supposed to be watching him Severus, not a house elf.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed and his fists clenched, “You seem to find them a fit enough substitutes in your own household.

Harry would have preferred to be anywhere but there at the moment.   He’d even have taken lying in bed, listening to Draco masturbate over watching Lucius and Snape glare murderously at each other.

Lucius’ face went blank, then darkened, “Tread carefully, old friend.”

Snape waited, his hands still clenched at his side and very suddenly, Lucius seemed to relax, “I apologize, Severus, I was simply concerned about my son.”

Snape relaxed his posture as well and nodded, “I was concerned as well.”

Harry doubted that, but didn’t say anything because Lucius had swept his arm out in a clear sign that Draco was to get into the carriage. Two house elves appeared and began lugging the hefty trunk into the back of it as he did and Lucius held his hand out to Snape, “Contact me tonight, perhaps I can make it up to you this evening. The house that I sometimes frequent has acquired a most unusual specimen. I do believe you will find it fascinating.”

Lucius’ hard, grey eyes darted to Harry significantly and Harry shifted uncomfortably. Snape looked down at him as well for a moment, eyeing him speculatively before looking back at Lucius and nodding, “I’ll do that.”

After they were gone, Snape’s face went from an interested sneer to an outright frown and he looked down at Harry again for several seconds.  “Go to McGonagall, you’re to stay with her until I return tonight.”

“But...”

“Go!”

Suddenly, it didn’t seem all that important to argue that he didn’t know where she was.   Running inside, he took the steps up to his tower room two at a time, hoping that Professor McGonagall was in their rooms. Harry couldn’t help but wonder what it was that this so-called house had managed to acquire and why it had spooked Snape. He thought about the way Lucius had looked at him, if even for the briefest of moments. Then again, maybe he didn’t want to know.


	6. Summer 5

July 9, 1995

 

He had a godfather! One that _wasn’t_ a deranged, psychopathic, homicidal maniac who had been responsible for the death of his parents and was now out to kill him as well. One that would have been more than happy to take him away from Snape and his damp and musty dungeon every summer. One that liked him, at least for now. That in itself was enough to send Harry into a happy daze for hours on end and it just made it better that Snape hated Sirius, because now anytime Snape was nasty to him, Harry started talking about Sirius. Not that Snape found Sirius threatening per say, but hearing about him in any capacity made the Potion Master’s eye twitch. With all this, Harry was hard pressed to think about anything downtrodden or depressing.

For instance, every time he started to remember Draco bloody Malfoy and the way the Slytherin prat had spent the entire year making fun of him for fainting, all he had to do was think about the way Sirius had asked if he wanted to come live with him. Or, when he had to eat meals with Snape and the man was picking on him about his table manners, he only had to remember how bright and exotic the birds were that had delivered Sirius’ letters.

It had only been one week, but already it was a perfect summer. Well, until Dumbledore had told him ‘the news’. He knew that something very big was going to be happening at the school next term, as it was hard to miss the countless strangers traipsing around it and the endless meetings that Dumbledore had to attend, but so far everyone was insisting that it be kept a surprise. It had been nice that the castle wasn’t as dead quiet as it usually was during the summer, even if Harry didn’t get to talk to the people beyond saying hello.

When the Headmaster had called him to his office early one Wednesday morning, Harry had hoped that he was going to find out what all the fuss was about. Instead, he had walked in to find a tall blond woman with sharp features and a very cold air about her, sitting in front of Dumbledore’s desk.

Harry stepped in tentatively, afraid that he’d walked in on a meeting, but Dumbledore had nodded to him and held one of his hands out to the empty chair. The woman had given Harry a very tight smile before looking back at the headmaster, “As I was saying, with the Quidditch World cup this summer, not to mention…” she stopped herself and glanced at Harry again, “other things, my husband is going to be out of the country for quite some time and I would much rather have my son home with me. I do so hate being alone, you see.”

From the look of her, Harry didn’t doubt that alone was how she would prefer to spend a great deal of her time. She didn’t radiate the warmth of a mother like Molly Weasley, or the comfort of Professor McGonagall. She felt distant and seemed a great deal more interested in looking around the office than she did in what she was actually saying. Not that Harry cared. If it meant he didn’t have to put up the Draco, he’d be polite to her; hell, he’d damn well curtsey if that’s what she wanted.

Dumbledore smiled pleasantly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I understand completely, Mrs. Malfoy.” He moved something on his desk, a small globe that was giving off a faint yellow glow, and the glow wavered and turned white as it shifted closer to Harry. “I’ve already spoken with Mr. Malfoy and I see no reason why Harry cannot spend part of the summer at Malfoy Manor. Although, I’ll need assurance that no harm will come to him under your roof.”

_What?!_

“But, of course, whatever you need.”

_Wait one bloody minute!_

“Headmaster?”

Dumbledore looked at Harry and smiled warmly, “Lemon drop, Harry?”

“No, thank you. Only what did you mean I’ll be staying over at Malfoy Manor this summer?” It couldn’t possibly be what it sounded like, it just couldn’t.

“Only for a few weeks, Harry, but it will give us time to get a few things done without you snooping about.” The blue eyes were twinkling in good humor, but Harry still had the decency to blush. “Mrs. Malfoy, you will have to excuse me for being rude. This is our illustrious Harry Potter. Harry, my boy, this is Draco’s mother, Narcissa Malfoy.”

Narcissa held out her hand and Harry shook it. She snapped it back sharply and then smiled, covering the reaction as best she could. “Harry, when meeting a lady, it is proper to kiss her hand, not shake it.”

He mumbled an apology and refrained from saying that when he finally met a lady, he would be sure to do just that. Narcissa put her pale hand back in her lap and Harry watched as she discretely wiped it on her skirt. “It might be beneficial if he were to stay longer. I could teach him proper etiquette,” She looked at his worn clothes, “among other things.” Harry tried not to pout, though he was beginning to feel sorry for Draco. If he had to spend his time with his father and this woman, it was no small wonder that he had turned out the way he was. Harry was in fact very surprised he hadn’t turned out worse.

Dumbledore shook his head. “I think it would be best if he got back to the castle before his birthday. We have a tradition to uphold.”

She raised one thin eyebrow in interest, “Really?”

“Quite. Every year on his birthday, Harry, Hagrid and I have cake down in the kitchen with the house elves. Of course, you and your family are welcome to join us, if you’d like.”

Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. He was going to have to change his definition of what someone who was scandalized looked like. Her eyes had gone too large and her mouth opened just slightly, then pursed tightly closed. Her hands clenched a tuft of skirt in her lap and she took a very deep breath, broadening her shoulders.

“No, I don’t think that will be necessary. I have… or I will have functions to attend, I’m sure, and Lucius should be home by then.” She nodded to Dumbledore and then to Harry, “He’ll be coming via floo, correct?”

Dumbledore nodded, “In one week, as I discussed with your husband.”

She turned around and left, her flowing robes sweeping just above the floor. As he watched her go, the situation sank in and Harry crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the floor. This was so entirely unfair. If he went to the Malfoy’s, he wouldn’t be able to write letters to Sirius. If he went to the Malfoy’s there would be no escape from Draco. If he…

“Harry?”

He looked up suddenly, having momentarily forgotten that Dumbledore was there. “Yes, sir?”

“You appear concerned.”

Harry tried to fight back a frown and lost, “I’m not really sure I want to go to Malfoy Manor.”

Dumbledore’s smile softened, “I won’t pretend that I won’t be disappointed, but if you would prefer to stay here, I will not make you go.”

He thought about. He thought about Draco’s pointy face and having to listen to that annoying voice all summer. He thought about the way Draco was always going on about how things were so much better at the Manor and how there was much more to do and everything was grander and much more lavishly decorated. He thought about Draco dragging him around the house, showing him everything that he thought was superior to Hogwarts. He thought about how much he was going to hate it. Then, he made the mistake of thinking about Dumbledore’s disappointed face.

“I’ll go, sir. It’s only for two weeks and maybe it’ll be fun.” He had to bite his tongue to keep from adding ‘but I doubt it.’

Dumbledore beamed at him, “Very good, Harry. That is not, in fact, the only reason I sent for you. I received a letter from Mrs. Molly Weasley late last evening and I wanted to discuss it with you.”

When he didn’t continue right away, Harry sat forward a little, “What kind of letter, sir?” He was suddenly very worried that the Weasleys wouldn’t want him hanging out with Ron anymore. He had dragged Ron into that whole mess with Sirius and he’d thrown Snape across a room to keep him from turning in a dangerous convict. Minding, of course, that Sirius was innocent, but did that really matter in the long run?

Dumbledore, however, didn’t look upset or concerned. In fact, his eyes were dancing with laughter behind his half-moon spectacles. “The good kind, I should think. You are aware, of course, that the Quidditch World Cup is being held in England this year?”

He nodded. Everyone had been talking about it before school finished and Seamus had been telling anyone who would listen that he would be going to cheer for the Irish National Team. It was very exciting and Harry wished he could go, but even if he’d had tickets he didn’t think Dumbledore would allow him to leave the castle alone to go to a large sporting event.

“It seems that the Weasleys have acquired tickets and they would like you to come with them.”

The words didn’t sink in right away, but when they did, Harry’s face began to split into a large grin, “Really, sir?”

“Yes, you’ll be flooing to their home the day before the game and staying for the rest of the summer.”

It was all Harry could do to stay in his seat. All thoughts of having to go to Malfoy Manor were purged from his mind at the prospect of going to the Quidditch World Cup. “Thank you, sir!”

“Don’t thank me, Harry, thank the Weasleys, they seem very fond of you.” Harry’s grin broadened. “Now, go and have fun and I’ll see you at noon. I take it you’re not adverse to the idea of having lunch with an old fogy such as myself?”

“Never, Professor!” He stood up and practically ran from the room. In only a few short weeks, he would be going to the Quidditch World Cup.

 

____________________

 

Of course, before he went to the Quidditch World Cup, he had to survive Malfoy Manor for two weeks and then another two with Draco at Hogwarts. He hadn’t really thought much about it until the day before he had to leave. He’d started packing and just as he threw his beat up trainers into his trunk, it occurred to him exactly what he was getting into.

He would be at Malfoy Manor. Hadn’t Hagrid said that Lucius Malfoy was a supporter of Voldemort? Wasn’t it a tad bit dangerous to leave him alone and unprotected in the home of Lucius Malfoy, even if Lucius wasn’t going to be there?

Things hadn’t looked any better the next morning, when he was sitting in Dumbledore’s office, eyeing the fireplace. The Headmaster was at his desk, looking intently at a thin, dangly bracelet. Finally, he seemed satisfied and looked up. “Come around here, Harry.”

The Headmaster took his hand and put the bracelet in it. “I need you to listen to me very carefully, Harry.” Harry nodded. “That is an emergency portkey. Wear it around your ankle and if you are in danger, touch the clasp and say the word ‘remeo’ and it will bring you back here, to my office, where you are to wait for my return. I’ll know that you’re here.”

Harry nodded and looked at the gold chain coiled in his hand before kneeling down to clasp it around his ankle. He felt a little safer as he tugged on it to make sure it wouldn’t come off.

Dumbledore looked at it and smiled, but it was a strained smile at best. “I know you may not understand why it is necessary for you to go, but I am very pleased with you for agreeing to stay at Malfoy Manor. That having been said, there were a few agreements made between the Malfoys and myself that you should be aware of. You are not to come to any harm while in their home. They are not to punish you in any way, regardless of what they think you may have done, and you are not to leave the property.”

Harry thought that seemed rather normal, but the grave set of Dumbledore’s face kept him from saying so. “Also, and this was not in the agreement, but it is important none-the-less. I have been assured that Lucius Malfoy will not be home during the time you are there. Should he arrive, you are to be especially cautious. If it even appears that he means you harm, you are to use the portkey. Do you understand?”

Harry thought it seemed a lot of fuss over such a simple instruction. He was nearly fourteen and he wasn’t likely to stick around if he thought someone was going to hurt him. He nodded, though and Dumbledore’s face relaxed. “Very well, then it appears your ready.”

“Sir, is it true that Lucius Malfoy supported Voldemort?”

Dumbledore stopped and looked at him in surprise. “Yes, it is, but do not judge too quickly. A great many of those who supported him did so out of fear.”

“Did Mr. Malfoy?”

“No, I do not think so.” Dumbledore didn’t seem inclined to elaborate on the subject, so Harry let it go and stood in front of the fireplace anxiously. “Remember what I said Harry.”

Harry nodded, “Remeo.”

Dumbledore smiled at him, but there was a distinctly anxious tinge to it as he grabbed the powder and threw it into the fire, “Malfoy Manor.”

Harry stepped in and watched Dumbledore’s office sweep past him as the floo carried him off.

 

____________________

July 16, 1995

 

When he fell out of the fireplace, he found himself on his hands and knees in front of Draco and Mrs. Malfoy in a very large room. It looked like an entrance hall; there was a door to the left that was large and heavy, a staircase to the right that led to a banister on the second floor, and an archway behind them that led into a stuffy sitting room. Looking up, he saw a massive chandelier hanging from a vaulted ceiling.

Draco smirked at him, “Is the air nice down there, Potter?”

As Harry pushed himself to his feet, Narcissa stepped forward and put a hand on her son’s shoulder, “Now, now, Draco, don’t be rude to our guest. Hello, Harry.” She was wearing a long, sweeping white dress and white gloves that had the effect of making her fair complexion almost ghostly in appearance.

She held her gloved hand out and Harry only barely remembered that he was supposed to kiss it. With a bored smile, she looked at the two of them. “Well, now that Harry is here and appears to be in good health, I’ll let you two catch up. Lunch will be promptly at noon, Draco, do not be late.”

For someone who was so insistent that she didn’t want to be alone, she seemed awfully eager to get away from them. Draco, however, didn’t seem to notice. “Come on, Potter, I’m going to show what real a wizarding home looks like.” Harry ignored the comment and followed wordlessly. Three hours later, he was exhausted, starving, and very thankful that it was nearly noon.

The Malfoy family library was large, granted and absolutely crammed with books, but not nearly so large and full as Hogwarts. Draco insisted that it was a better library, however, because his father only kept practical things in it and nothing was restricted. With his new knowledge of Lucius Malfoy, Harry suspected ‘practical’ meant Dark.

The Malfoy family kitchens were large as well, boasting three house elves that greeted the boys nervously while trying to prepare what looked like an eight course meal. There were two dining rooms, the formal dining room, which could seat nearly sixty guests, had walls painted in a deep burgundy and two long, cheery wood tables decorated in fresh flowers, despite the fact that no one was dining there at the present; the informal dining room had walls painted in a much paler red, to the point of being nearly pink, with a circular table in the centre that could accommodate at least fifteen and flower chairs. Candles and lace decorated the table, and three place settings had already been arranged with delicate silver plates and red napkins. Harry could hardly keep his mouth closed when Draco told him that this was where they were going to be eating lunch.

Draco’s bedroom was nearly twice the size of Harry’s dungeon room, with it’s own bathroom, a king sized bed, three bookcases full of trinkets (although very few books), a desk littered with parchment and ink in varying colours, and a wardrobe that Draco said was enchanted to hold all of his clothing and help him pick things to wear. He had said ‘all of his clothing’ as if he had a great deal; looking around the room, Harry didn’t doubt that in the least.

From Draco’s room, he had been forced to lean out the window and look over the grounds while Draco pointed at things in the distance. “That’s the gardens, there are three of them, mother loves plants, and that’s the feeding grounds.”

“Feeding grounds for what?”

“We have a unicorn, two Thestrals, and a whole herd of Andalusian horses. Father says that before they banned dragons, we had one of those, too.”

Draco pointed to a flat plane of grass off to the right, barely visible from where they were. “Over there is the meadow. It’s not good for much, but if we want to go flying, the house elves will put the Quidditch goals up for us and we can practice.”

A little bell tingled in the corner and Draco looked up, startled. “Lunch! Come on, or we’ll be late.”

Harry scrambled after him, tripping over his own feet as he did so. Draco barreled through the halls and down the stairs, skidding to a halt at the doors leading into the informal dining room. Draco turned around and looked at Harry for a moment before giving an exasperated sigh, “If you keep dressing like that, she’ll want to take you shopping.”

“She can’t. Dumbledore says I’m not to leave the Manor.”

Draco huffed, taking a moment to dust off Harry’s shoulder and ignoring the annoyed looks he was getting. “As if that would stop Narcissa Malfoy. You give her cause and she’ll have the whole of Diagon Ally here at her disposal before the weeks out.

Harry brushed Draco’s hand off his shoulder, trying to pretend it didn’t tingle where he’d touched. “Leave off, Malfoy.”

The doors were pushed open by two house elves wearing worn pillowcases. They didn’t look at the boys, but bowed their heads respectfully before popping out of existence. Narcissa was standing next to the table, wearing a dark blue robe over her white dress. She smiled at them. In Harry’s opinion, it was a very unpleasant, calculated smile.

“Good afternoon, boys. Have a seat.” She sat down gracefully, brushing her skirt under herself as she did so. “We’ll be having quail.”

Harry sat at the other end of the table, next to Draco and looked at his plate dubiously. Perched on top of it was what looked like a very tiny, cooked chicken, wings and all, in a pile of naked, steamed vegetables, surrounded by a few, delicate drips of reddish sauce. Draco and Narcissa had both begun eating, holding it still with a fork and pulling the meet off with a small, pincer like utensil.

With a deep, steadying breath, Harry attempted to follow suit. It took him several minutes to get the little bird to stay still and another few to figure out how to get the meat to come off in strips without ripping and tearing at it. He touched the frayed piece of meat to the sauce and stuck it in his mouth bravely. The first thing he noticed was that the meat was very tough, then the sweet of the red sauce overpowered his senses and he screwed up his face, trying to determine what it reminded him of.

“It’s raspberries.” He looked up to see Narcissa watching him, “The sauce, it’s made from raspberries.”

He nodded and swallowed thickly, before setting about to finish the rest. In the end, he was quite proud of himself, even if the jumbled pile of broken bones on his plate resembled nothing like the neat little bird carcass on Draco’s and Narcissa’s.

“Well, that was lovely.” She hadn’t spoken the entire time they ate, hadn’t even looked at the two boys sitting with her at the table. Standing up, she straightened her robe and smiled tightly. “You boys go play and I’ll see you at dinner. Seven, Draco, don’t forget.”

She swept out and Draco immediately stood, taking Harry’s arm, “Come on, let’s get the house elves to set up the Quidditch Pitch.”

 

____________________

 

Draco had been right, about the way Harry dressed, that was. Narcissa had frowned at Harry’s beat up attire for three days. At every meal, she looked him up and down - breakfast, lunch, tea, and dinner - and every time she saw him, her frown deepened. He even tried to wear his best outfit, a pair of trousers that only showed the barest hint of sock, and a white shirt with no wholes or stains at all. He was sure that this, on top of his best Hogwart’s robes, would be sure to impress her. Instead, he woke up on the fourth day to a knock on his guest room door.

The guest room was nearly as large as Draco’s room, with a huge canopy bed, draped in blue and yellow, and large paintings of austere looking wizards. There was a desk with three bottles of ink and an assortment of quills make from what looked like peacock feathers. The chandelier that hung over the center of the room made the whole thing feel far too formal. Harry sat up blearily and wiped his eyes with the hand of his sleeve. “Who’z it?”

The large, double doors opened and Narcissa swept past his bed, her face smiling as Harry had never seen it do before. “Good morning, Harry, did you sleep well?”

Without waiting for an answer, she pushed open the thick curtains covering his windows and he turned his head away, blinking at the flood of light. Draco was standing in the doorway, looking wide-eyed at his mother. He came forward to the side of Harry’s bed, looking over his shoulder expectantly.

Draco pulled himself up onto the bed and lowered his voice, “I told you.”

Harry leaned forward, pushing the blankets away. There wasn’t anything at the door that he could see. “Told me what?”

“I told you that if you kept dress…”

“Draco, no whispering, it isn’t polite.” Narcissa patted the bedspread once before smiling down at Harry reverently. He hadn’t even seen her approaching. “Seeing as you’re going to be with us for a while, Harry, I thought it was about time you had something proper to wear.”

Suddenly, Harry knew what Draco had meant. He looked at the blond, startled, then back at the tall, austere woman beaming down at him like Dumbledore with sweets. “I… You don’t have to. I think my clothes are…”

“Nonsense, Harry, it gives me great pleasure. Now, stand up, don’t be shy.”

Draco sniggered besides him and grabbed his arm, pulling him from the bed. Narcissa looked disapprovingly at Harry’s faded night pants and threadbare shirt. “No, that just won’t do at all. Paolo, if you could?”

A very short, little man with dark hair, streaked blond at the front, wearing layers of different colored clothes came bustling into the room, followed by several twittering girls, each carrying arm-loads of fabric squares. While Narcissa spoke with the wizard named Paolo, Harry leaned over to Draco, who had yet to stop smirking, and whispered, “You’re mother is insane.”

His smirk fell, “She’s not.”

“Yes, she is. For the past few days she’s been like the ice queen and suddenly she’s all smiles and light? If that’s not mental…” He didn’t bother to finish, because one of the girls had come over to him and was draping a patch of fabric over his shoulder. After a few seconds, Paolo nodded and turned back to Narcissa.

The girl removed the fabric, then looked at Harry for a second before breaking into a fit of giggles and running off to join the others, all of whom were whispering to each other and staring openly at him. Draco waited a few seconds to make sure his mother was fully engrossed with the designer before leaning back into Harry. “She’s not mental, Potter, she has a project. If you think this is bad, you should see her around the winter holidays. We have a party every year, over two hundred invites and…”

He stopped as another girl rushed forward and laid another piece of fabric over his shoulder. He looked at her nervously and she went bright red, shaking slightly in what Harry suspected was an effort not to giggle. Paolo shook his head, frowning, “No, it needs something else.”

Harry was starting to get very annoyed, “I really don’t need…”

“I know!” He came over to Harry and pulled another bit of fabric off the girl’s arm and laid it next to the first before stepping away. With a bright smile, he nodded and turned back to Narcissa, clapping his hands once in enthusiasm.

The girl looked at Harry shyly, taking the fabric away. Harry, who was feeling increasingly awkward, managed a tight, “Hi,” that sent the girl running back to her friends. Draco didn’t bother to hide his laughter this time, but stopped when his mother gave him a reproving look.

For the next hour, Harry was made to stand still and let giggling girls put cloth after cloth over his shoulder. He really couldn’t imagine that buying a set of clothing should be such a production, but every time he so much as opened his mouth in protest, he had either been interrupted or outright ignored.

When Paolo finally left, Harry was hungry he was not in the mood for Draco’s mockery. Narcissa had patted him on the head condescendingly and told them to meet her downstairs for brunch as soon as Harry was dressed. While he had rummaged through his clothes, pulling out a distinctly ragged pair of jeans and an undeniably muggle t-shirt, he had had to endure Draco sitting on the bed, saying things like, “That just won’t do!” and “With that skin, I’d hardly go with _cotton_.”

It had taken every ounce of will power he had not to pelt something small and hard the other boy’s head. Thankfully, after the morning’s fiasco, they had eaten in relative silence, as Harry was suffering a headache and Narcissa seemed to have taken particular offense to his attire.

When they were done, Draco had gone for a walk outside and Harry had gone with him, because he was terrified of what might happen if he went back into his room. He had the irrational fear that another designer would jump out from behind the large wardrobe and start taking more measurements. They had been walking in silence for nearly half an hour, except for the occasional chuckle from Draco, when the other boy suddenly spoke, nearly making Harry trip over his own feet. “I did warn you.”

“About what?”

“My mother. I told you that if you kept dressing like common muggle filth, that she would take it upon herself to bestow you with a proper set of robes.”

Harry looked down at his clothes. He didn’t think he dressed like filth, he looked a damn site better in these than he had in Dudley’s cast offs. “You really are a prat, Malfoy.”

Draco raised an elegant eyebrow, “Maybe, but at least I have taste.”

Harry tried not to look too confused by that, especially the part where he’d realized that Draco’s eyebrow was elegant. “I’ve got a headache. I’m going inside to take a nap.”

With a dramatic sigh, Draco turned around. “Don’t,” he struggled with himself for a moment, before adding, “I’ll stop making fun of you, even if you deserve it.”

“I meant it. I’ve got a headache.”

Draco pulled out his wand and cast a spell at Harry, who dropped to the ground and rolled out of the way without thinking. The spell whizzed past his ear and hit the wall, leaving a scuffmark and Harry turned to face a very annoyed Draco. “What the bloody hell was that for?”

“Language, Potter. It’s a spell for headaches. You’ve got one, I’d thought it might be... nice of me, I suppose, if I relieved you of it before I dragged you around the Manor.”

Why Draco thought Harry had any intention of being dragged around the manor when he had a headache, he didn’t know, but he sat still while Draco cast the spell again. “Dolens solamenus.”

The headache dissipated instantly and Harry stop up, wiping the grass off his knees with a sheepish, “Thanks.”

Draco shrugged and suddenly took him by the wrist, “Come on, I want to show you the unicorn.”

 

____________________

 

Two weeks at Malfoy Manor was equivalent to two weeks in one of the lower levels of hell. At least, that was Harry’s opinion on the matter when it was all said and done. The clothing had arrived only the day after Narcissa ordered them and she’d forced Harry to try several of them on before she was satisfied. Then, she’d burned the rest of his clothing. Well, everything except his Weasley jumpers, which he hadn’t brought with him, and his pajama pants, which were still lying next to him on the floor. He had managed to save those by using his foot to scoot them under the bed before she noticed. With a happy sigh, she’d patted him on the head and had ignored them both ever since.

It wasn’t that any of the clothes were bad. They fit well enough and they didn’t look feminine, as he’d been worried they would and in fact, they felt very nice against his skin, almost luxurious. Even the boxers were made of some kind of silk that caressed him with every step. But there in lay the problem.

It seemed that his traitorous body, which couldn’t be bothered to tell the difference between Oliver Wood’s roguishly handsome looks and Draco Malfoy’s pointy face when it came to midnight fantasies, could very well tell the difference between cotton and silk and it made a point every morning (and sometimes in the middle of the afternoon) of letting Harry know that.

Since they didn’t share a room at the manor, it was much easier than normal for him to find time to take care of himself. The privacy was something of a relief, actually. At Hogwarts he had always felt embarrassed and cautious, because a certain female ghost was known to sneak in through the plumbing and watch people in the baths; and at Ron’s, well, eight people in one house just was not conducive to time alone.

The only problem was that with that much space to himself, Harry was starting to feel like he might not want to be alone all the time. In fact, his fantasies had started to include more than just images of other boys masturbating, but images of himself joining in and touching them and then, to his eternal shame, kissing them.

It was the morning after one such fantasy (a particularly vivid one in which he had been pressing Malfoy against a shower stall at Hogwarts and grinding against him, while trying to get as much tongue as possible down his throat) that he was woken by Draco knocking on his door. “Potter, are you awake in there?”

He sat up, blinking, “Wha?”

The door opened and Draco came in, “What was all that noise about?”

Harry pulled his knees up to his chest, suddenly very alert and very aware of his achingly hard penis, “Nothing! Nothing at all.”

Draco frowned at him, “Are you sure? It sounded like you were in pain.”

Harry’s could feel his ears going red and desperately tried to keep the colour from spreading into his cheeks. “No, I was just… having a nightmare.” He silently cursed himself for his habit of talking in his sleep. Maybe he should invest in a gag.

“Nightmare, huh?” Draco raised one eyebrow and Harry felt his cheeks flame up and dropped his head onto his knees as Draco laughed. “Oh, Potter, that’s priceless.”

“Shut it, Malfoy.”

“You were having one of _those_ dreams, weren’t you? Who was it about? Bell? Spinnet? Brown? Patil?” The blonde’s face split in a nasty grin, “Granger?”

Harry looked up sharply, his erection quickly deflating as he saw his best friend’s face in the back of his head. “Oh, thanks a lot, Malfoy.” Though, to be honest, he was indeed thankful, because otherwise getting out of bed might have been very embarrassing.

Pushing the covers aside, he stood up, stretched, and went to the wardrobe. The only other thing positive he had to say about Malfoy Manor was that once one engaged the services of the wardrobes, they picked your clothes out for you. There was no scrambling around, trying to decide what would match, especially now that he had a much larger selection to choose from. He simply opened the wardrobe and the clothes that he should wear that day were hanging on the door.

Pulling them off the hanger, he flung them on the bed and started for the bathroom, only to be stopped by Draco’s mocking voice, “Going to take a _shower_ , Potter?”

Harry turned around, frowning. He really wasn’t a morning person, if he had his way, he would lay in bed half-awake for hours. Draco had apparently picked up on this at some point and decided that mornings were the most opportune time to be annoying. Not that he wasn’t annoying all the times, he just put forth more effort.

“It’s not what you think, Malfoy, I just got all sweaty and…” He stopped as he realized what he’d said and blushed deeply, “You know what, never mind. I’m going to go take a _bath_.”

While Harry tried to dunk himself into cold water, hoping to stave off any other urges he might have, Malfoy stood outside the door to the bathroom, talking to him. “Last night one of the ghosts came into my room and asked why I hadn’t brought you by to see him.”

He scrubbed the soap into his hair, “One of the ghosts? I didn’t know you had ghosts.”

“Oh, please, any wizarding home more than a century old is bound to have a ghost or two. Ours tend to stay in the South wing, away from the family. Great great uncle Varius, however, wants to meet you.”

“Why?”

“Because, Potter, you’re the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, everyone wants to meet you. Besides, he was… father’s home!”

Harry, who had been dunking his face in the water at that moment, had the misfortune to inhale in surprise. Choking out the water, he grabbed his towel and stood up, quickly wrapping it around him while he coughed and came out of the bathroom, looking out the window that Draco was standing in front of.

Lucius Malfoy was standing in the gardens next to another wizard that Harry recognized as Nott. Ducking out of view, Harry cursed under his breath. He looked down to where the little gold chain hung around his ankle and recited the word that would activate it in the head, wondering if perhaps he should just go ahead and use it. The idea of spending even a few short hours in the same Manor as that man was troubling. Especially when he remembered what had happened last summer and the way Malfoy had looked at him.

Then again, Dumbledore had said only to use it if it looked like the elder Malfoy intended to do him harm and as he hadn’t even said hello, yet, he had know idea of his intentions. Draco was staring at him and Harry shrugged, “It’s nothing, I was thinking.”

“You do an awful lot of that for a bull-headed Gryffindor. And what is that on your ankle? Potter, are you wearing jewellery?”

Harry pushed his foot behind him self-consciously. “It was a present and… well, I don’t want to lose it.”

Draco chuckled, “Sure, Potter.”

Going over to the bed, he looked down at the pair of green boxers, folded neatly next to black trousers and a dark green shirt. “That wardrobe is absolutely obsessed with putting me in green.”

Dropping his towel, he picked up the boxers and was pulling them on when he notice something out of the corner of his eyes. Draco was staring at him. As disturbing as this was, however, what was more disturbing was that when Harry turned to ask him what he was staring at, Draco looked away quickly and concentrated very hard on something outside. Harry raised his eyebrows, but he knew Draco well enough to know that he would never admit to it, so he went back to getting dressed.

Draco stared pointedly at the top of the trees, being careful not to notice the fact that he could still see Harry’s reflection in the window. When Harry was dressed in those slightly baggy, worn muggle clothing it was easy not to notice certain things. Things like the way Harry was really starting to fill out in places. Things like the way there was a line of muscle that ran from his knee up along his thigh. Things like the small bulge of delicate muscles on his arms and the well-developed abdomen that became more and more defined as the years went on. But when Harry put on the clothing that had been specially tailored for him, everything stood out; from his smooth, golden skin to his bright emerald eyes. It was disgusting, it was disturbing, it was… Harry’s reflection stood on its toes to take the pants off the hanger and the muscles in his thighs tightened and bulged.

Damn! Look at the treetops. Look at the treetops. Better yet, think about Pansy, that was safe territory. He was practically betrothed to the girl, so it hardly mattered if he got inappropriate erections while thinking about her. To his eternal horror, his cock went from semi-hard to completely flaccid at the mere thought of her. “The nerve!”

“What?”

Shit, he’d said that out loud. Draco looked over at Harry, who was half way through pulled his shirt on. “You’re taking too long and I’m getting bored.”

Harry rolled his eyes and started buttoning his shirt. “You’re always bored, Malfoy. Have you ever noticed that?”

“I’m always bored because I’m always being forced to hang around with you. Now hurry up, I have to take you to meet Uncle Varius and then we can go do something.”

Harry rolled his eyes and reached into the wardrobe for his socks while Draco tried to pretend he wasn’t watching. There wasn’t any reason he should be watching, Harry was… Harry, and he was a _boy_ , which was by far the more important thing. Malfoys were not gay. They married upstanding, pureblood women and had one heir, two if they were ostentatious.

Potter stood up and dusted off the green shirt, pressing it into his flat stomach, before heading towards the door. Draco stood up, quickly taking the lead and walking briskly towards the southern most wing of the manor. It was very simple really. He was a Malfoy and Malfoys were not gay, that was all there was to it.

 

____________________

 

Draco Malfoy was gay. Snape had given him the benefit of the doubt for many years. The boy did, of course, spend a great deal of time with his mother, which was enough to make even the most masculine of wizards bend. He also had very little in the way of male role models as Lucius was inclined to spend as little time at home as possible.

So, over all, Snape could see why the boy would pay so much attention to the way he dressed, or make the occasional flamboyant statement about decor. What he could not ignore, however, was the way that Draco was blatantly staring at Potter’s backside and had been doing so since the moment they started to walk down the hall from Dumbledore’s office.

The problem with noticing that was that it became increasingly difficult not to notice that, for a fourteen-year-old, Potter did have a nice arse, which led to memories that he didn’t particularly want to conjure when said boy was in the near vicinity. The house of ill-repute that Lucius favored, had acquired a most peculiar specimen during the previous summer and Lucius had been most adamant that Snape participate. He had reluctantly agreed, because the Dark Lord was only on temporary hiatus and appearances had to be maintained. At least, that was what he kept telling himself.

The specimen was a young muggle boy that had the unfortunate bad luck to look almost exactly like Harry Potter. Oh, there were differences, or Snape would have suspected polyjuice. The lower lip was a bit too thin, the eyes slightly too large and the ears were just a fraction smaller than they ought to be, but the tear-filled eyes and sweat-drenched hair were perfect and the golden skin that had turned red and blue with abuse was flawless.

Eventually, after nearly three hours of violent assault, the company had become tired of the boy’s heart wrenching sobs and half-hearted attempts at struggling against the bindings he couldn’t even see. When that happened, they forced a powerful aphrodisiac down the child’s throat and started playing with him again, their lusts renewed by the wanton pleading and whimpers and moans when they slid into the loosened arse.

While Snape had always considered himself a man of moderately good moral standing, one who would never even consider doing that sort of thing to one of his students, it was hard not to wonder if the real Potter would make those same delicious noises, or if he had a repertoire all his own. Oh, and it did not help that Narcissa had taken it upon herself to dress the boy. Every article of clothing hung just right, unlike the cheap muggle fair the boy had worn every other summer.

He snatched his hand out and tugged Draco’s robes before the boy plowed into the wall. Draco’s pale cheeks went bright pink with embarrassment and he set his eyes forward, watching where he was going, rather than what he was following. Harry looked back for a moment, but Malfoy pulled a face, so he looked away quickly.   Not quickly enough. It was so easy to imagine what that face would look like twisted in perverse pleasures. Too easy.

It had been a glorious two weeks of silence. Two weeks without one child or another under foot and this was the price. The rest of his summer holiday spent in amoral agony. He followed Draco’s eyes, which were once again focused on the other boy’s arse.   Well, he supposed there were worse fates, even if it was _Potter_.

 

____________________

 

Harry carefully picked through what clothes he had left behind. There was very little of his original wardrobe left and most of what was there were things that he had outgrown and hadn’t bothered to get rid of yet. It was very easy, when one was being shuffled around all year, to forget to go through your clothes.

Draco was sitting on the bed, watching Harry as he sifted through the things, tossing aside Dudley’s cast-offs that he’d had since he was eight. He could probably still fit into them, although they would be far too short for him. He sighed and pulled out an undershirt that was slightly too small and tossed in the small pile of things to his left.

That left him with a pair of beaten up trainers, two pairs of socks with holes in them, and three Weasley sweaters in bright colours. Draco scoffed, “You could throw those away, too.”

Harry frowned, but didn’t bother to look back as he shoved them into the corner and began to sift through the expensive clothes on the floor. Nine a.m. was far too early to be rearranging a wardrobe. He’d woken that morning, eager to eat breakfast so that he could go to the kitchens for his birthday cake, and opened the doors to find that the cupboard was so tightly packed he could hardly pull anything out of it, let alone find anything.

After nearly ten minutes of pulling things off hangers and hoping that they would match, he had given up and taken everything out, weeding through it to try and find any way he could make space. Unfortunately, clothes were not something that Harry had indulged in much in the past. McGonagall made sure he had sufficient trousers and shirts at the beginning of each year and he’d only ever needed his school robes as he never left the school.

He flung aside a pair of brown trousers and a blue shirt, and began hanging the rest back up. Draco frowned at the combination, “Those do not go together.”

Harry looked at the two items, strewn over the arms of his desk chair, “Yes, they do. You’re mother forced me into brown and blue on more than one occasion.”

“Not _that_ blue. _This_ one.” Draco flung himself over the edge of the bed, grabbed a shirt and threw it at Harry, who held it up and compared it to the one across the chair.

“Malfoy, these are identical.”

“They are not, that one is a much darker shade, you’re just colour blind.”

“I…”

The door opened suddenly and Harry dropped the shirt he was holding and stared, wide eyed at Professor Snape, who was standing in the doorway, looking upset. Draco sat up on the bed and smiled, “Good morning, Professor.”

“Good morning, indeed. Would you mind telling me why you have pulled all of your clothing out of your wardrobe where the house elves had so graciously hung it?”

Harry looked at the pile of clothes surrounding him, “Well, I was… um, that is to say… there were too many of them.”

“And you thought you could rectify this by dragging them all out?”

“Well, no, but…” Harry bit his lip and absently pushed his shirt up to scratch his side.

“Put them back!” Harry jumped, dropping his hand, and looked at Snape, whose neck had turned red with angry, not entirely like Uncle Vernon’s had on occasion. “I want all of this back on hangers and in the wardrobe within the hour or you’ll not be getting breakfast.”

He turned around, slamming the door shut. Harry sighed, “What have I done now? They’re only clothes.”

“It is a fantastic mess.” Draco stood up and went to his trunk, pulling out his black trousers and grey jumper. “Besides, it’s you.”

Draco refused to help and instead busied himself giving orders on how to properly hang clothes, which Harry ignored. Somehow he managed to get them all squeezed back in and the doors shut with nearly fifteen minutes to spare, giving him enough time for a shower, if he hurried.

At the Malfoys’ breakfast had been a horribly stiff affair. The plates arrived with food on them and there were no condiments to put on things. It was eaten as it was served and, consequently, Harry missed marmalade very much. He ate three pieces of toast smeared with as much of the orange jam as he could manage and even used his sausage to wipe up the small clumps that had fallen to his plate.

Snape made a point of not looking in his direction and Draco tried to follow suit, but occasionally glanced over in what Harry assumed was disgust whenever he licked his fingers. Pushing his plate happily aside, Harry wiped his face and hands with his napkin.  “May I be excused, Professor Snape?”

Snape nodded, still not looking up, but Harry wasn’t about to think twice on it, afraid that the man might remember himself at any moment and order Harry to do something first. Draco quickly finished his juice and followed Harry out the door.

The halls were blissfully deserted. The thud of his feet against the stone echoed down the hall of the dungeon. For all of thirty seconds, Harry forgot that he wasn’t alone. “Where are we going?”

Harry had to force himself not to sigh in agitation “The kitchens.”

“Why?”

“It’s my birthday. I always go to the kitchens on my birthday. You know that.”

Draco paused. Was it really Harry’s birthday? Whenever Draco’s birthday was approaching, he always made a large deal of telling his mother and his friends exactly what he wanted and he made sure that everyone knew it was coming. Harry, on the other hand, had seemed perfectly content to ignore the event entirely until it was there.

Sighing, he looked at Harry, only to realise that he’d continued walking down the hall, leaving Draco standing there like an idiot. “Hang on!”

Harry stopped long enough for him to catch up and as they walked, Draco bit his lip nervously, then realised what he was doing and stopped himself. Biting ones lip was hardly dignified, after all. Instead, he ground out what was on his mind. “What do you want?”

Harry looked affronted, “Excuse me?”

“For your birthday, stupid, what do you want for your birthday?”

“Oh.” Harry frowned and slowed a little before shrugging, “I don’t know. Anything really.”

“Do you want a lace dress?”

“A what?!” He stopped outside the portrait of the fruit and stared at Draco as if he had grown two heads.

“A lace dress, in pink and white maybe.”

“Of course not!”

“Well, then, you don’t want _anything_.”

Harry scowled, but managed to take a deep breath and tickle the pear without saying what he really wanted to. The portrait swung open and he was instantly enveloped in the familiar, comforting arms of Hagrid, as they tried to crush him, “’Appy Birthday, ‘Arry!”

Dumbledore was standing to the side, his beard twitching upward in a smile, “Good morning, Harry, I trust you had a pleasant trip?”

“Yes, Professor.” Hagrid let him go and he brushed the wrinkled out of his robes.

The Headmaster took him in and Harry frowned, trying not to feel embarrassed, “It appears that Lady Malfoy has had her wicked way with you after all, hasn’t she?” He bit out a smile and looked down at the brown trousers, “No need to fret, my boy, you look fine in them. In fact, I daresay that we’ve been neglecting your wardrobe over the years. I’ll have to remember to send her a letter of thanks.”

Harry didn’t think he looked fine, he thought he looked like a ponce. Then, he remembered that he might very well be one, especially seeing as he’d spent the past two weeks lamenting that he’d been unable to do anything with Draco. No, wait. He hadn’t been lamenting it, he had been _relieved_. Yes, because relieved felt like a giant whole in one’s stomach late at night that left you with the inexplicable need to touch yourself, despite knowing that you were being watched by portraits. Very relieved, indeed.

“Have a seat, Harry, and tell me all about Malfoy Manor.”

Harry saw Draco’s face pinch for a moment, an expression he recognised as meaning that Draco wasn’t pleased with something, but he sat down next to Dumbledore and started talking, because he didn’t care if it made Malfoy uncomfortable, it was his first day back and it was his birthday. If he wanted to talk about his two weeks in that gilded prison with the ice queen, he would. At least, right up until the subject of Mr. Malfoy having come home a day early arose.

He’d started to say it, “Professor, the day before we came back…” Draco tensed next to him and foot kicked him in the shin. “Ow.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, “What was that, Harry?”

Harry looked over at Draco, but the other boy refused to look back, intent on staring into his mug of hot chocolate. His face was mostly covered by a shank of blonde hair, but Harry could distinctly see his mouth. Was Draco pouting?

“Harry?”

He looked back at Dumbledore, “Um... oh, sorry, I, um... well, that is to say, the day before we left I... fell off my broom and twisted my ankle. It was bothering me a bit and I was wondering if...”

He wasn’t even sure what he was going to say next, but Dumbledore interjected, “Say no more, my boy. Due to the upcoming events,” he winked as he said it, “Madame Pomfrey agreed to return to work early. She’ll be here first thing in the morning and I’ll have her take a look at it.”

Harry didn’t think for a moment that Dumbledore believed his story, not when he kept that one eyebrow precariously raised in question, but the Headmaster didn’t push and Harry wasn’t offering. After a very crass round of singing and large pieces of dark chocolate cake, Professor Dumbledore and Hagrid wished him another happy birthday and left to go take care of things that they refused to tell Harry about.

They’d barely left the portrait hole when Harry rounded on Draco, “What was that for, anyway?”

Draco looked at him, feigning surprise, “What was what for?”

“Why did you kick me?”

Draco rolled his eyes, “You looked like you needed a good kicking.”

“That’s not why.” Draco went back to staring at the table top and didn’t seem likely to answer, so Harry turned around and walked out.

Draco scowled. Stupid Potter. He knew very well why Draco had kicked him. He’d been about to mention his father. While the man had been very careful to avoid Harry while he was there, he had gone to some length to get time alone with Draco and he hadn’t wasted a moment of that time. He had made it very clear that Draco was to keep his nose clean while he was there. He was not to make trouble and he was to avoid any talk that might seem ‘suspicious’. Not that Draco could be sure that Harry talking to Dumbledore was particularly suspicious, but just to be on the safe side.

Getting up, he looked through the portrait. No sign of Harry. With a humph, he stepped out and started to make his way back towards the dungeon. He’d barely made it five feet when a funny noise caught his attention. It sounded like someone breathing. He looked around, but didn’t see anyone.

The noise was getting fainter and then suddenly, it stopped altogether. Draco frowned, it wasn’t a ghost, ghosts didn’t breath and even if it had been Peeves playing a joke, he would have made a lot more ruckus than this. Then again, Peeves wasn’t as prone to playing jokes during the summer when there were fewer people about.

It had to be Pot… His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Very soft, careful, footsteps, but footsteps and they were heading away from the dungeon. Draco had a sudden flash of Harry’s bodiless head appearing in front of him near the Shrieking Shack last year and he seethed. So, that was it. Potter must have learned some kind of invisibility charm or… or he had an invisible cloak!

He nearly stomped on the floor. It just would not be fair if Potter actually did have an invisible cloak. The echo of footsteps started to fade and Draco quickly made up his mind. He had to find out what it was that Potter had and if it was a cloak, he’d have to insist that Potter let him borrow it next year, because there was all sorts of mischief he could get into with it.

The only problem with following something invisible is that while you know you can’t see it, there’s no way to tell if it can see you. So, Draco hid behind corners and crept forward only when the steps were so distant he almost couldn’t hear them.

After several flights of stairs, it became apparent that they were headed in the direction of the Astronomy Tower. An ill feeling spread through Draco’s stomach as he remembered the Dementors from the previous year, but he forced it down. He’d spent all year making damned sure that no one suspected he was worried about Potter, going so far as to dress up like a Dementor in a prank that ultimately backfired and got him attacked by a Patronus. After all that hard work, he wasn’t about to admit anything to himself now.

Finally, he heard a door open. Several seconds later, he looked around the corner and saw that it was indeed the Astronomy Tower. What was Potter playing at? Why would he come up here, of all places?

Creeping up to it, he peered around the doorframe and saw Harry appear out of thin air next to the railing, the invisible cloak shimmering silver as it was hastily folded and set next to the same ratty bag that Draco remembered from the year before. Harry pulled out a pair of binoculars and sat on the ground, engrossed in whatever it was he was looking for.

Time for a little revenge. With a wicked grin, Draco took off his shoes and slipped through the door. Holding his breath, he snuck up to the cloak, pulling it on as slowly and silently as he could.

When he was sure that he was fully covered and that Harry truly hadn’t heard him, he backed up to the door and slammed it shut, watching in glee as Harry nearly dropped the binoculars in surprise. Only Harry didn’t look spooked so much as panicked.

Harry set down his binoculars and ran for the now closed door, tugging frantically at the handle. “Bugger!” He tried to twist it and yanked at it again, “Bloody hell!” Finally, he kicked the door and stood there panting.

Draco stood quietly. Now did not seem like the best time to reveal himself. In fact, perhaps he would just stay where he was until Harry had calmed down a...

“Malfoy!” Harry was standing next to where his cloak had been, looking in all directions, “I know you’re here, Malfoy, and so help me, I will start flinging curses if you don’t show yourself _now_.”

Draco paled considerably, realising that he’d left his wand in their room. If Potter did start flinging curses, he would have absolutely no way of defending himself. Throwing off the cloak, he tossed it to Harry and watched as the other boy’s face began to darken with anger.

“Malfoy, what the hell were you thinking?” When Draco didn’t answer, Harry closed his eyes and took several deep breathes. “The door only opens from the other side, or don’t you remember my having told you that last year?”

“Maybe.” Well, now that he actually thought about it, he did recall something, but he’d been too preoccupied at the time with the idea that they were spying on Dementors to really pay attention. Harry, however, was not impressed with Draco’s answer.

“Maybe? Draco, you twat! Now we’re stuck here until someone decides to come looking for us.”

He was not a twat! “It’s not all that bad, Potter, I’m sure someone will come in an hour or two.”

Harry threw the cloak down. “No, they won’t, Malfoy. Professor McGonagall may care enough about me to send a house elf to keep an eye, but Snape doesn’t and Snape won’t notice we’re gone until we don’t show up for dinner.”

Draco puffed up defensively, “He may not care about you, Potter, but he cares about me. He’ll come looking if I don’t show for lunch.”

“No, he won’t, he’ll be relieved to have some damned peace and quiet for once and will assume that we’ve eaten in the kitchens, because we do it all the bloody time.”

Come to that. They had skipped lunch before, without saying anything, and Snape had never remarked about it. “Bugger.”

Harry practically fumed, “This is all your fault!”

Of all the nerve! “My fault? You were the one sneaking around the castle in an invisibility cloak. Of course, I was going to follow you.”

“I was sneaking around because you’re a complete twat, Malfoy.”

“I am not a twat!”

“Yes, you are! You spent the entire year making fun of me for fainting.”

“Well... if you didn’t want to be made fun of, you shouldn’t have fainted in the first place!”

“Of course, how could I have been so stupid. It was all my fault for fainting. Why can’t you just leave me alone? You’re always trying to make me miserable. Don’t you have anything better to do, or are you that hard up for a bloody life?”

“I have a life Potter, and this is not my fault, it’s your fault for always trying to show me up in Quidditch. If you would stop being such a show off then I wouldn’t make fun of you!”

“I don’t think so, Malfoy. I can’t help it if I’m a better seeker than you are, and you only joined the bloody team so you could prove that you were better than me!”

“I did not! I joined because I wanted to, not because you were on it.”

“Then why are you so upset that I keep winning?”

“You’re always acting like you’re so much better than everyone. Traipsing off around the castle and leaving me alone in the dungeon all summer.”

“Oh, you followed me plenty and I do not act like I’m better than everyone, I’m just better than you.”

“I bloody knew it, you do think you’re better.”

“At Quidditch and that’s about it, isn’t it? And the only reason I went ‘traipsing’ anywhere was to get the hell away from your stuck up, pansy arse.”

Draco’s mouth opened and closed his mouth twice before he could get the words out of his mouth, “I only acted that way because you had to rub it in my face that my father beat me!”

“I was not rubbing it in your face, I was trying to help you.”

“If ‘help’ means that I have to watch you feel sorry for me I’d rather live with the pain. If you had just accepted my apology in first year, none of this would have happened.”

“Apology? A hand in friendship may be an apology to some, Malfoy, but coming from you it’s an insult, and of course I wasn’t about to accept your hand in friendship, you’d spent an entire summer getting me into trouble because you were _bored_.”

“You started it by being boring. All you ever wanted to do was read and walk around the castle like a mindless git.”

“I was only reading because you were there, and you started it by only wanting to talk about how great your father was and how much better your home was compared to Hogwarts.”

“You started it by refusing to accept my friendship the first time I offered it.”

“You started it by kicking me in the back of the bloody knees before you’d even said ‘hello!’”

“Well... your mudblood whore of a mother started it when she pushed you out!”

 

____________________

 

 

“I’m sorry.”

“Say it again.”

“No!”

Harry loosened his grip on Draco’s legs and he slid a little further down. “Bloody hell, Potter. Fine, I’m sorry.   I’m sorry I called your mother a whore and a mudblood, and I’m sorry I kicked you in the back of the legs, I’m sorry I was such a prat, I’m sorry I stole the dragon whisker and let Snape blame it on you, I’m sorry I punched you, I’m sorry I made fun of you last year, and I’m sorry for whatever else you want me to be sorry for! Now will you please just pull me up?!”

It was tempting not to. It was kind of fun holding Malfoy over the edge of the tower, listening to him apologize, but fair was fair. Pulling him up, Harry dumped him on the ground and sat beside him, breathless.

After Draco had said _that_ , Harry had flown into him with fists and feet, kicking and hitting at everything he could manage. They’d grappled and somehow ended up against the edge of the tower.   When Draco had toppled over, Harry had grabbed his legs. His sudden rush of adrenaline had been gone, but with the Slytherin practically begging to be pulled up, Harry had seized the opportunity to make him apologize. Of course, none of this changed the fact that they were stuck on a tower until Snape magically decided to worry about them, but it did make him feel much better about it.

Draco scooted up and touched his nose tentatively. “I think you broke it.”

“I didn’t break it.” Harry looked at Draco’s swollen face with no small amount of pride.

“How would you know?”

He didn’t, but he didn’t think a little blood and swelling meant it was broken. Still, as they sat there quietly, he started to feel bad. He’d just been so angry. Finally, with a sigh, he rolled his head to look at Draco sitting next to him, “I’m sorry about your nose.”

“You should be.”

“You make it very difficult for anyone to be around you.”

Draco stopped and looked at him for a moment before he too sighed, “Fine.” A few seconds later, “And I am sorry I said… what I said.” He couldn’t bring himself to go further and admit that he had done it because he’d been angry that Harry was right. He had started to whole bloody thing.

Harry nodded, “Apology accepted… Draco.”

With a start, Draco looked over, but Harry had already turned away and was peering over the edge of the tower despondently. Had Harry just called him by his given name? Was that meant to be some kind of peace offering? It had sounded like one.

“I…” But he couldn’t think of anything to say, really.  

Harry looked out over the grounds and frowned. He’d come out here hoping to get a glimpse of the surprise that the Professors kept talking about, but there was nothing. Just grass and tree tops. Then Draco had shown up and now they were stuck out there with nothing to do and he hadn’t brought any food with him, because he’d intended to be back with a few hours.

Draco sniffed next to him, but he refused to feel any guiltier about Malfoy’s bleeding nose. If he hadn’t wanted to get punched, he shouldn’t have said anything about Harry’s mother. Draco leaned in towards him, “What are you looking for anyway?”

“There’s going to be something going on next year, only I don’t know what. I was kind of hoping I could see something.”

“Is that all?”

Harry looked over and saw Draco smirking, although a little more stiffly than usual, “What do you mean ‘is that all?’”

Draco shrugged, his smirk not faltering, “It’s not all that big of a deal, it’s not like we’re going to get to participate, anyway.”

“Participate in what?”

“You really don’t know?”

Now, Harry was starting to get annoyed. “No. What is it?”

“I’m not telling.”

“Do you want me to hang you off the tower, again?” Not that he would, but it did the trick.

Draco paled slightly and set his jaw stubbornly, “Fine, it’s the Triwizard Tournament and you’re not to tell any of your little friends, or I’ll get into trouble.”

Harry tried to tell himself that he didn’t care if Draco got in trouble and, when that failed, he nodded. “What’s the TriWizard Tournament?”

“It’s a competition between wizarding schools. Each school gets to have one champion fighting for it and they compete in three tasks. It’s supposed to be really dangerous, so only the sixth and seventh years get to try out for it.”

The idea of other wizarding schools was fascinating. Logically, it made sense. Hogwarts couldn’t possibly be the only one, but he’d never really thought about it before. “How do you try out?”

“Don’t know. I suppose we’ll find out next year.”

Harry abandoned his lookout and sat down next to Draco, “So, what are the tasks?”

“Well, they’re different every year.” He eyed Harry suspiciously, looking for any trace of deception.   Nothing. The Gryffindor boy was sitting with his legs crossed and his eyes wide with interest. “One year they made them fight a Troll.”

Harry smiled, “Really?”

There was no mocking behind it and Draco felt himself relax.   “Yeah, they had to try and knock it out.   One of the competitors almost died.”   He launched into the story, telling Harry everything that his mother had told him when she’d been warning him not to try and enter it. Every few minutes, Harry shifted on the stone floor, but he never took his eyes off Draco.

For the first time, Draco really had his attention and he was finding, much to his own despair, that he was enjoying it. “So, then the Hogwart’s champion cast Aguamentia…” Harry laughed, but it was all amusement and interest. Oh, well, he’d deal with his feelings later.

 

_____________________

 

When Professor Snape finally came and rescued them nearly seven hours later, Harry was in a brilliant mood. He’d never been so exhilarated during the summer. The TriWizard Tournament sounded exciting and he couldn’t wait to see what kind of tasks the Champions would have to face. He hoped not Trolls, though, because he’d had enough of them in first year.

They’d talked about the tournament for a while until Draco couldn’t think of anything else to say, then they’d eaten the sweets that Harry had brought with him and laid in the sun while they tried to think of something else to talk about.

Draco flopped onto his back, his hand hitting Harry’s shoulder and resting there. “It’s bright.”

Harry shifted his legs so that the flats of his feet were against the ground. “It’s high noon. Of course, it’s bright.”

“And it’s hot.” Draco sat up again and tugged his shirt off, throwing it in a corner.

Harry tried very hard to pretend that he wasn’t staring at the pale, smooth skin or the tight abs. No, because if he were going to stare at another boy naked, it shouldn’t be Draco, it should be… he halted in mid-thought. Who else would he stare at? Not Neville. Seamus wasn’t bad when he kept his mouth closed, but he rarely did that. Dean, maybe. It was strange, but with Oliver gone, he was having a great deal of trouble finding someone to distract him from his attraction to Draco. 

“Come on, Potter, take it off, unless you want it to be drenched with sweat by the end of the afternoon, which would ruin it. The last thing you need is a closet full of nice clothes with sweat stains.”

Harry, unable to come up with a proper response, tugged the shirt off over his head and laid back down, staring at the passing clouds. That one looked like… “A horse.”

Draco lolled his head over to look at Harry. “What?”

“That cloud, right there, it looks like a horse.”

Draco looked up and tilted his head the way Harry’s was.   “It does not, the legs are way too long and there’s hardly any neck.”

“Then what does it look like to you?”

“A cloud.” Harry elbowed him and Draco grunted. “Oh fine, it looks like… a hippocampus.

“What’s that?”

Draco scoffed at him, but when Harry looked over there was surprisingly nothing malicious in Draco’s face, “For someone who’s spent the last six years at Hogwarts, you are surprisingly muggle.”

He flushed in embarrassment and shrugged, “Stuff it, Malfoy. So, what is it?”

“It’s a magical creature, obviously. Half horse, half fish.”

Harry nodded, “I see. So, that’s the fin back there. Okay, what’s that one, then?”

Draco shifted his head closer and squinted his eyes. “A kneazle sniffing a pile of gold.” Harry laughed and Draco felt a tingle go up his spine. “Harry?”

Saying ‘Harry’ felt somehow wrong and incredibly right all at the same time, but if the Harry had noticed anything odd in it, he didn’t say anything. “What?”

“I…” He had an idea, but he wasn’t entirely sure it would work, or that Harry wouldn’t see through it.   “I wanted to give you a birthday present.”

“You already did.”

Draco rolled over and found himself practically nose to nose with Harry. “Oh. What was it?”

“A little practice snitch. I think it’s real gold.”

“That was very generous of me.”

“I thought so.”

They were quiet for a moment, while Draco considered going on, but he was saved the trouble when Harry broke the silence, “Is that why you asked what I wanted earlier, because you wanted to get me something?”

“No.” It was an automatic response and he nearly bit his tongue for it. If he was going to be friendly with Harry, he’d have to stop being so defensive.   He could be cautious without being blatantly rude and denying everything on principle. With a sigh, he rolled back over to stare up at the clouds. “Fine, yes, that’s why I asked.”

He could still feel the other boy’s eyes on him and chanced a glance over. Gods, but Harry could be attractive when he smiled like that. Had he just thought Harry was attractive? “Well then, what would you get me?”

“Let me think.”

Harry chuckled, but didn’t look away. For the past few hours things had been so… different. He could almost forget that it was Draco-the-prat-Malfoy he was talking to. It was almost like they were friends.

“I’ve got it. Since I already spent so much money on you, I’d… toss you off.”

Harry couldn’t do anything other than blink for a several seconds, trying to decide if he had really heard that correctly. Malfoy’s neck and ears were bright pink, so Harry decided that, yes, he had heard it correctly. “You’d toss me off?”

The pink spread up into his cheeks. “Sure. Why not? It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

Harry’s eyes widened, “That’s not… I owed you, that’s why. It wasn’t because I wanted to or anything.” Of course, he’d enjoyed it and he wanted to do it again, but that had nothing to do with what they were talking about now. Did it?

Draco’s nonchalant shrug was belied by the fact that he was still a very striking shade of pink. “Look, Potter, you asked what I’d get you.”

“But, that’s not a present, Malfoy, that’s you trying to… oh, that’s what this is about, isn’t it? You want to.”

The pink fled from his face, leaving it pale. “No, I don’t.”

Harry sat up, pointing at Draco, “Yes, you do. You’re just using this present thing as an excuse to get off.”

Draco sat up as well, “I am not!”

They stared each other down for several seconds. Harry didn’t know how he felt about the idea of wanking with Malfoy again, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he was getting turned on. Remembering the way Malfoy’s hand had felt moving along his cock sent waves of pleasure from his stomach to his groin. So… so, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing if Malfoy wanted to as well. They were stuck on the roof of the school, with no chance of rescue for several more hours. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to…

“Forget it, Potter.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

Draco, who had been in process of lying back down, stopped. “What?”

“I wouldn’t mind doing… you know, if you wanted to.”

Harry waited to be mocked. He had no doubt that Draco wanted it, when the Slytherin was playing a prank, he didn’t blush or get embarrassed, he was always very sure of himself. By the pink of Draco’s cheeks, he was sure that he was on the level, but that didn’t mean that Draco wouldn’t change his mind.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Draco didn’t mock him, although he didn’t smile or say anything encouraging, either. After nearly a minute, he nodded at Harry, “Okay.”

Harry watched him lie down again and start to undo his trousers, then scrabbled to do the same. A few seconds later, they were laying, trousers around their knees, staring at the sky in favour of each other, trying to get hard.

Draco once again tried to think about Pansy, but found that it really wasn’t helping, so he reluctantly switched gears and thought about a magazine he had at home on Quidditch. Then, he cursed himself, because at the thought of sweaty, muscular men, his penis had stood to full attention. Harry, who had already been half hard from the mere thought of what they were going to do, didn’t even bother to think about girls, they had never been a part of his masturbatory fantasies, no matter how hard he had tried. Instead, he steered his thoughts immediately to Oliver Wood.

He felt Draco’s hand tentatively reach out and take his hardened penis in hand and did the same, though there was nothing hesitant in Harry’s touch. He thought about Oliver in the shower, naked and scrubbing himself with a large bar of soap, water shining off his body in the dim light. He’d never done anything with Oliver, but he imagined that if he had, they would have done it in the shower, under the water. He imagined that Oliver would be hard against him, pressing him into the wall.

Draco moaned next to him, a soft airy sound, but it was enough.   The image of Oliver was replaced by one of Draco, not towering over him as the older boy had done, but standing at his same height, their chests pressed together, their legs tangled, their hips…

He moaned, as well. This just wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be thinking about Draco; shouldn’t be thinking about his pale arse, or his pale, sturdy arms, or his shoulders. Draco had wonderful shoulders, not too broad, but broad enough. Draco twisted his hand a little and Harry felt his balls tighten.

Speeding up his own efforts, Draco tensed beside him and a warm flow of cum spurted over his hand. Oh, god, that just did it. He came, as well, unable to stop the sounds that issued from his throat. Reluctantly, he removed his hand from the other boy’s cock and set it next to him, panting. Why the hell was he out of breath, anyway?

Draco sighed, “You’re really good at that.”

Harry fought the urge to jerk his head around and stare openly.   Had the great Draco Malfoy just complimented him on something? Granted, it was about how well he could jerk off another boy, but there were worse things to be complimented on. “You’re really good, too.”

“Shut up, Potter, I think I need a nap.” Draco pulled up his trousers and wiped his hand on the end of his shirt, before turning over and tucking an arm under his head.

Harry just managed not to chuckle at him as he did the same.   Yeah, a nap sounded good.

 

_____________________

 

When they woke up from their nap, they ate the rest of the sweets that Harry had brought with him and talked about the Quidditch World Cup. Draco had tickets as well and would be attending with his parents.   He hoped that it wouldn’t be overnight, because their tent, while luxurious enough in its own right, was only five rooms and he didn’t think he wanted to sleep that close to his parents.

Harry hadn’t understood what Draco had meant by the tent having five rooms, but he didn’t get a chance to ask, because they had started talking about the teams and who had what chance of winning. Draco supported Ireland, saying that he thought they had the far superior team and would obviously win. Harry didn’t know which one he supported, but chose the opposite; just to make the conversation more interesting.

Draco scoffed, “There’s no way, Potter, one superior seeker can’t possible make up for the entire team’s defic…”

The door slammed open and Harry started, but just managed not to squeal like a scared first year. “What in the name of Merlin are you two doing up here?” Snape’s neck was red and he stared at Harry, ignoring Draco altogether.   “Do you have any idea the trouble that I have had to go through the find you? The house elves are beside themselves, and if it wasn’t for Sir Cadogan, who happened to see Draco skulking around by himself, I never would have even thought…”

“Sir, it isn’t Harry’s fault.” Draco stepped forward, in front of Snape’s line of vision and then froze under the wrathful gaze. Oh, bloody hell.

“Draco…”

“No, I… well, we were playing a game and I… tracked him up here and I forgot that the door locks from the inside, so we were stuck.”

Snape crossed his arms over his chest and sneered down at the two of them. “And what, precisely were you playing that required tracking Mr. Potter to the Astronomy Tower?”

Harry was staring at the back of Draco’s head in shock. It was only the second time in nearly five years that Malfoy had willingly taken the blame for something that was truly his fault. Normally, he just would have let Snape yell at Harry and never said a thing, but he had actually stood in front of him this time, drawing the outraged Professor’s attention.

However, now Draco was floundering, badly, “We, um…”

Harry stepped around him and steeled himself to be yelled at.   “Hide and seek.” Draco looked at him and Harry looked back, trying to convey with his steady gaze that Draco should just go along with it. “It’s what we were playing,” he looked back at Snape, “sir.”

“A little old to be playing hide and seek, aren’t you?”

“We were bored.”

For a moment, he thought it hadn’t worked, but then Snape sighed, putting the bridge of his large nose between his fingers and squeezing. It was a gesture that Harry had come to realize meant he was holding back from yelling. “The next time you feel the urge to play children’s games, Mr. Potter, you will keep it inside the castle. And I mean, inside.   No coming out to the Astronomy Tower, no… hanging from window ledges or whatever else it is you do to entertain yourself. Inside the castle mean _inside the castle_. Am I understood?”

Harry and Draco both nodded. “Good.”

He turned and held the door open, motioning for them to follow him inside. Harry looked over at Draco, who had his head bowed so that his hair fell in his face. Once they were past Snape, however, Draco cast Harry half a glance and he could see the smirk on the Slytherins face. He didn’t think he could be friends with Draco, but maybe he could manage something close to it.

Either way, he had another two weeks to find out.

____________________

  

“That’s preposterous.”

“Why?”

“My father would never do something that obvious.”

“It’s not like I’m saying he took out an advert in the Sunday. Besides, if Dobby hadn’t hinted at it, I might not have figured it out at all.”

Draco frowned, “Dobby? You mean the nervous little house elf that was always talking to himself and slamming his fingers in the doors?”

“Yes, that one.” Harry flushed a little, remembering how odd Dobby had seemed to him at first.   Of course, that was no excuse for Draco, who had grown up around house elves.

“That thing was mental. He was always going on about being a bad house elf. One time, when my father was angry with me, I asked Dobby to hide me and he did, he put me in a hall closet and stood in front of it. When father came by and asked where I was, he just started banging his head against things. That was the worst caning ever and all because that stupid little creature couldn’t just say ‘no’.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, “Did you ever consider that maybe he’d been told not to lie to your father?”

Draco brushed it off with a wave of his hand. “That isn’t the point.”

“Then what is?”

“That he’s a mental house elf and you could hardly take his word for anything.”

Harry sighed and shook his head. Being amiable to Malfoy was like pulling teeth from a ghost. It was impossible. Every time they sat down to chat, Malfoy had to open his big mouth and say something entirely too stupid for Harry to even properly express his feelings about it.

Like just now. They were trying to play a game of chess and Draco had asked him. “So what was with you and second year? I know you’re not the heir to Slytherin.”

Harry, in the spirit of their maybe/would-be friendship, had told him. There had been a great deal of interruptions, especially when he got to the part where Ron and he had used polyjuice to interrogate him, and in the end, Draco had been impressed, insulted, and had refused to believe that his father had any hand in it.

“Look, I’m telling you that he did. He didn’t even bother to deny it. When I gave him back the diary, he just said ‘Prove it’.”

“Could you?”

“Could I what?”

“Could you prove it?”

Harry sighed in frustration and fought not to roll his eyes.   “Don’t you think he’d be in Azkaban by now if I could? It’s not like I had a tape recorder on me at the time.”

“A what recorder?”

“A muggle thing that… oh, never mind. You’ll just have to face up to the fact that your father is not a nice man.”

“Of course he’s not, he’s a Malfoy. Malfoy’s are not nice people in general.”

It was absolutely infuriating. Finally, Harry gave up. “Whatever, Malfoy, you’re move.”

Draco shrugged and looked down at the board. Over the last two weeks he had learned a great deal about Harry.   For instance, he’d learned that he already knew more than he thought he did. Six years had taught him the tilt Harry’s voice took when he was getting frustrated, and the look on Harry’s face when he gave up. He knew that Harry didn’t like peanuts, but loved peanut butter (only the creamy kind). He knew that when Harry had nightmares, his eyebrows synched together in his sleep and his mouth moved just slightly. He knew that when Harry had nightmares, it was best to get out of the range of his arms, because he would eventually swing them. He knew that Harry hated the attention he got for his scar, but hated being ignored almost as much. He knew that Harry’s favorite thing in the world was flying and he knew, above all else, that Harry blew at chess.

“Check.”

“Bloody hell, how did you do that?!”

“Well, I moved the queen from over there to…”

“Shut it, Malfoy, you know what I meant.”

He smirked, “It’s about forethought, Potter, something you obviously lack in.”

Harry frowned, but didn’t say anything else and Draco felt a stab of guilt. “You have to think ahead. Like, what were you going to do next?”

“Well, I was going to move my king out of the way. Over there.” He sounded dubious and he was looking at Draco as if he’d grown a second head.

“If you do that, what do you think I’ll do?”

Harry looked at the board for several minutes and Draco was just beginning to get annoyed when he spoke. “You’ll move you castle over and it’ll be a check mate.”

“So, what else can you do to keep me from taking your king?”

“I can move my pawn in front of it.”

He did so and Draco promptly moved his knight. “Check.”

“Bugger!” The game stretched out another ten minutes and although most of the time was spent with Harry staring at the board, trying to analyze his next move, it was kind of fun watching him scrunch his nose in concentration.

By the time he managed a ‘check mate’ it was almost time for him to leave. In fact, he had just looked at the clock when Professor Snape knocked on the door. “We’ll be out in a moment, sir!”

‘We’ was a word that Snape had been hearing a great deal of lately, even from Potter. ‘May we be excused from the table,’ ‘we’ll be back later,’ ‘we would like go outside.’ He had no idea what had caused this sudden change in attitude, but he knew damn well that it had happened in that tower.

The tower incident, as he had dubbed it, had nearly given him a heart attack, which would have been a horribly muggle way to die. He’d woken up that morning, bemoaning the fact that the stomping of teenage boys around the castle would now destroy his peace and quiet.

When they hadn’t shown for lunch he had been relieved.   It meant another few sacred hours that he could spend to himself. As evening drew near and they still had not come back, he became uneasy. Had it been just Potter, he could have brushed it aside as the boy having lost track of time on his broom, but Draco would have gotten bored by then and wanted to come inside to play chess or any other number of things that didn’t involve the sun.

He went to the Quidditch Pitch to prove to himself that they were there, only to find it empty. He hadn’t panicked, because it would be like Potter to get something to eat after playing all afternoon, even when dinner was only an hour away, but the kitchens were empty except for the house elves.

It wasn’t until he had gone back to the Pitch and discovered that no one had been inside the broom shed that he became truly worried. His mind filled with visions of Lucius lewdly stroking the little Potter look-alike, who was now his favourite toy. ‘He’s so docile, Severus, no fight left in him at all. We’ll have to substitute him for the real thing before long.’   Lucius would never, not from Hogwarts, not with his son watching. He couldn’t possibly… but Lucius would, because like a true Malfoy, Lucius took what he wanted when it pleased him and imagined that his money could keep him clean.

Less than thirty minutes later, he had found them, mussed up and talking about Quidditch on the Astronomy Tower. Whatever had happened up there (and Snape had tried very diligently to ignore the stiff residue on their untucked shirts), Draco had taken it upon himself to take the blame and the two had not separated since. Oh, he had heard them arguing, but it was no longer with the same spitfire temper that Potter was known for, or the same arrogant annoyance Draco displayed when he was truly upset.

Sitting at his desk, he cleared a space and dipped his quill in ink, setting about to review his lesson plan. Not that it ever changed, but he thought about it every year. Ten minutes later, the door to the bedroom open and Draco came out, a smug grin on his face, followed by a red-faced Potter.

Snape fought the urge to put his head on his desk, reminding himself that it was almost over, just a few more hours and he could breathe a sigh of relief as the Malfoy carriage took one of his charges away, leaving him alone with… Potter. He looked over at the boy again. The red in his face was gone, leaving only the golden tan of sun-kissed skin in its wake, the bright green eyes flashing happily as he and Malfoy ate their sandwiched and whispered back and forth.

A lock of black hair fell in his face and Potter didn’t move it away. Snape had to fight the memory of the other boy, who constantly forced his slightly longer hair to cover his eyes like a shield, whose voice was softer and deeper than Potter’s, ‘How can I serve you, sir?’ He was so pliant, so malleable.

“Sir?”

Giving in to every request, because he’d learned by now that nothing less would be acceptable. He wasn’t permitted to flinch or show distress, he was there to serve and serve he would until his visage was no longer close enough to Harry Potter’s to afford his status there.

“Sir?”

Snape looked up, brought out of his thoughts by Potter’s voice. The boy looked at him oddly and he hoped he hadn’t said anything aloud. “What?”

Potter glanced at Draco, who was fixedly staring at the table, and sighed. “The house elf, sir, it said that the Malfoy family carriage is arriving. Shouldn’t we go up to meet it?”

Draco didn’t seem at all thrilled by the idea, but he did stand up and slip his shoes on, straightening his robe around him. Potter did the same, smoothing his shining black robe and picking a piece of white lint from it carefully, his brow knitted in concentration. Damn Narcissa to hell and back.

Despite the speed with which they made their way up the stairs, Lucius had managed to get out of his carriage and look bored before the arrived. “There you are. I was wondering what kept you. Not Draco, I hope?”

“No.” Snape smiled down at the blond Slytherin and put a hand on his back. “Draco is never a problem.”

He felt Harry tense next to him. From the slight raise of Lucius’ eyebrow, the boy had seen it as well.   “Good, and how is young Mr. Potter fairing this afternoon?”

Potter grit his teeth and forced a poor attempt at a smile onto his face. “Fine.”

Snape saw the pale hand around the cane twitch just slightly and imagined that man wanted nothing more than to wipe the look from Potter’s face.   “I’m glad to hear it. Well, Severus, we should be returning. Narcissa is waiting.”

He didn’t doubt she was waiting, but for what, he didn’t know. Certainly not for the return of the son she ignored at every given opportunity. “I look forward to seeing you soon, Lucius.”

“Tomorrow, if you can find a babysitter. Mr. Lawrence is throwing a soirée for his most valued customers. You will, of course, attend with me, won’t you?”

“If I can tear myself away.”

Lucius chanced another quick glance at Potter, who bristled at the attention. Snape couldn’t help but be thankful for it. The further Potter stayed from Lucius, the less likely it was that he would be captured or hurt or… he refused to let him think about it further as Malfoy’s carriage set off, taking Lucius and Draco away.

He glanced down at Potter, reassuring himself that the boy was safe and at his side. Potter didn’t outwardly flinched at the attention, but he did step back. “I’ll just… go entertain myself, then.”

Snape nodded absently, “Be in the dungeons before sunset.”

Without another word, Potter turned around and pulled open the doors, running inside and out of sight. So, the boy was safe from monsters for another year. But how long would it last? If he knew Potter, not for long.


	7. Summer 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted in 2004.

Harry sat in front of the lake, his legs drawn up to his chin, watching the sun glistening over the tops of the water. He didn’t want to think about what had happened during the TriWizard Tournament, and he wouldn’t have, except that it bared thinking about. Voldemort was back. Cedric was dead. It kept running through his mind like a bad broken record.

Voldemort was back.

He’d faced Voldemort three times now and came back alive, but how much longer could his luck last? In first year, the man hadn’t been at full strength. In second year, it was a teenage version of him. This time he was real and powerful, but was he as powerful as he had been the first time? Harry doubted it.   He didn’t want to think about what it would mean if he was right.

Cedric was dead.

He’d seen the other boy die, they’d been standing next to each other, cautiously holding their wands at the ready and then… then Harry’s scar had hurt and Cedric had been killed. He didn’t know if there was anything he could have done to prevent it. Maybe if his scar hadn’t hurt? Maybe if he’d been able to stand up to the pain and just focus, he could have done something. Like what, throw yourself in front of it? He tried to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like a certain blond Slytherin, but he knew it was right. He couldn’t have done anything, not really. But still…

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then there was Cho to consider. The first girl he had ever thought he could possibly like and she would hate him now, because he had been the one to live and Cedric the one to die. She had every right to hate him, but that didn’t make it any easier for Harry, who had sort of hoped that he would be able to explore the possibilities of being heterosexual.

The sun had dipped a little lower and was casting pink and purple across the sky. It was pretty.   A twig snapped behind him and he looked over to see Hermione, standing a few feet away, eyeing him suspiciously. “What?”

She shrugged and walked over, sitting next to him. “You’ve been out here for hours, Harry. I know you’re upset, but sulking isn’t going to change anything.”

He frowned at her and looked back at the water. “I’m not sulking.”

“No, you’re brooding.”

“I’m thinking.”

She put her hands behind her and leaned back, stretching her legs towards the water. “Harry?”

“Hm.” He didn’t bother to look over at her, but he could feel her eyes on him.

“What’s with you and Malfoy?”

For a second, he couldn’t breathe. He’d never told Ron and Hermione about spending time with Draco every summer; at first, because he didn’t want to think about it, and later because it felt private. That year things had changed between them. Oh, they still fought, but Harry didn’t quite put his heart into it, and he fancied Draco didn’t either.

At the beginning of the school year, shortly after his name had come out of the cup, Draco had sent a message insisting they meet in private. They had had a row, in which Draco yelled at Harry for entering the stupid match and not telling him how. It was suspiciously similar to his argument with Ron, only Draco had turned around and started making those bloody badges for everyone to wear.

Eventually, after two more meetings, each one consisting of more and more yelling, he had backed off and agreed that Harry probably hadn’t put his own name in the cup, but only because he wasn’t smart enough to know how. They had met again after the ferret incident, and no matter how much Draco insisted that he deserved an apology for being laughed at, Harry refused to cave. It had been funny, far funnier than the badges that were still circulating.

They’d met a few more times, talking about the tournament. Draco had offered to help, because he said Harry would be hopeless otherwise, but he had told him he didn’t need it. At best, Harry could call these conversations strained, like there was some kind of invisible tension between them and he wasn’t sure what it was and he doubted Malfoy did.

Then there was the third task. Harry wasn’t sure what he thought of that in connection with Draco.   Lucius had been there, leering at him from the circle of Death Eaters. Harry wondered if Draco would believe him if he told him that his father was there, or worse yet, would he care? He knew that Lucius tortured Muggles, he’d seen it at the Quidditch World Cup and didn’t appear disturbed by it.

With a sigh, Harry decided that all his thinking was going nowhere and Hermione was still looking at him, waiting for an answer. What was he supposed to say? He’s good company when he doesn’t open his mouth?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Hermione.”

“I’m not blind, Harry, and I’m not stupid.”

He winced, looking over at her from the corner of his eye.   “Of course you’re not, you’re the brightest witch of your age.”

She smiled, if a bit reluctantly. “Give me some credit Harry, I am one of your best friends. Or, at least, I hope I am.” When Harry still didn’t respond, she looked at her feet and began toeing her shoes off. “He was staring at you all term. At least, when you weren’t busy staring at him.”

Harry turned to her, his mouth in shock, “I wasn’t staring! I was… looking.”

She laughed and pulled her knees up. “Right, looking. And all those mysterious owls you got were just fan mail.”

“I got a lot of owls, Hermione, what with the stupid Rita Skeeter woman writing articles about me.”

“Yes, but I did happen to notice that every time a certain large brown owl dropped a letter in front of you, you put the letter in your pocket - very hastily, I might add.” She raised her eyebrow, “It was almost as if you didn’t want Ron or me to see it.”

Harry flushed, embarrassed that his actions had been so hasty and Hermione slid closer so they were shoulder to shoulder. “Don’t get me wrong, Harry, I’m your friend and I won’t tell anyone, least of all Ron, he’d have a fit, but… well, I’ve been thinking about it a lot and…”

She trailed off and looked at the ground, her eyebrows pinched together in thought. “Look, if you like him, you can tell me.” _Like him!_   “I don’t think he’s good for you. He’s a complete prat, he wastes no effort to tease you, he calls us all names, and I won’t even mention who his father is.”

Hermione looked at him sternly, “But… well, he did warn us at the Quidditch World Cup, didn’t he? He wasn’t just taking the opportunity to make fun of us, he was telling you to get away, to run and hide. Then there was the third task.”

Harry’s head shot up from where he had put it on his knees. “The third task?” His voice choked. Why was she bringing that up in connection with Malfoy?

“We were sitting in the family section with the Weasleys and Malfoy was sitting near us with Professor Snape and his father. When you… disappeared,” she said the word very delicately, as if she might be dropping a bomb. “Malfoy stood up and shouted ‘Harry’. He was white as a sheet and he might have fallen over is Snape hadn’t pulled him back into his seat.”

This was bad. This was really, really bad. “Who else saw?”

Now she just looked smug. “Well, Ron did, but he’s convinced himself it was a shock induced hallucination. I think everyone else was too worried about you to notice.” _Thank god!_ “The point is that he obviously… cares about you.”

She had screwed her face up very hard when saying this and Harry thought it might be best to put her out of her misery. “We’re just friends, Hermione. I’m not even sure we’re that.” He told her everything, well, everything except that part where they had tossed each other off and enjoyed it. As he spoke, it felt like a great weight was being lifted off him and the more he spoke, the lighter that weight became, even with Hermione’s occasion interruption. “I can’t believe Professor Snape did that!” “Harry, that was incredibly dangerous.” “You hung him off the Astronomy Tower?!”

By the time he’d finished, the sun was setting over the lake and it was nearly time for supper, but he felt better, if only a little. Hermione had listened to everything with an even head, as she always did. There had been no admonition about who Malfoy was or what kind of danger he posed. Eventually, she had taken a very deep sigh and looked over the lake thoughtfully.

“Harry, have you ever considered that you might be gay?”

 _Where the hell had she gotten that?!_ In fact, “Where the hell did you get that?! I like Cho. Remember Cho, the girl with… with breasts. I like her, so I can’t possibly be gay.”

She blushed brightly, not something that Hermione did on a regular basis, “Yes, Cho, the girl who plays Quidditch and is about as flat as they come.   No offense,” she offered, when Harry looked affronted, “she’s very pretty and all, but her body type is a little… boyish. And you spent an awful lot of time staring at Malfoy.”

Harry couldn’t believe Hermione was saying this, “Hermione, I’m not gay. Just because I’ve never kissed a girl doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” _I hope._

Hermione shrugged and stood up, brushing her skirt off. “Maybe you’re right and I’m reading too much into this, but Harry, you know you can come to me about anything, right? I’m your friend, I’m not going to stop talking to you just because you’ve been forced to hang out with Malfoy or because you might like boys.”

“I don’t like boys.”

She winked, “Sure, Harry, whatever you say.” Before he could retort, she turned on her heals and walked back towards the castle, socks covered in green grass stains and shoes in her hands. When she was out of site, Harry stood up as well. He was hungry and tired and he wanted to go to diner and then go to bed.

The smell of food from the Great Hall was overwhelming. God, he hadn’t eaten much that day, he’d been too busy thinking about things. Now, he just wanted to stop thinking about them. Especially about Malfoy staring at him, or calling his name, or…

“Potter!”

Damn. Turning around, Harry started to put on his best scowl for Draco, only to find himself shoved up against the wall, the other boy’s hands pressing his shoulders back. “Hey! What are you…”

But he never got a chance to finish it because Draco kissed him.   Not tender or sweet, or anything else Harry had ever associated with kissing, but hard and rough and punishing. For the first two seconds, Harry couldn’t think, let alone fight it, and when his sense finally started to come back to him, he was shocked that they weren’t screaming at him to push the Slytherin away, they wanted him to touch back.

He closed his eyes in denial as a tongue pushed into his mouth, but he couldn’t bite back the moan that worked its way out of his throat. He felt his hands grab Draco’s shoulders and pull him closer, trying to get more contact, more something. Draco’s grip slid up to cup his face, holding him in place while he was being absolutely devoured by tongue and… oh, god, was that teeth?

Harry’s legs felt like jelly when Draco suddenly pulled back and stared at him, confused. Well, Harry thought, he’s not the only one. Then Draco backed away and turned to run towards the dungeons, his face pink and pale at the same time, leaving Harry panting and weak kneed against the wall next to the dining hall.

That had been… he touched his lips and realized he wasn’t breathing. He’d liked that.   He’d liked that a lot. It had been sudden, violent, and… well, wet, but he’d liked it and if he were going to be entirely honest with himself, he wanted to do it again, but that didn’t make him exclusively gay, did it? Maybe he was bi or something. _Maybe it was just Malfoy._

Taking a deep breath, Harry closed his eyes. Screw dinner, he was going to bed before anyone else could corner him and make him question his sexuality.

“Hey, Harry!”

“I’m not gay!” Oh, bloody hell. He turned around and saw Ron standing next to the doors, a small bowl in his hands. Hermione was behind him with a smug frown on her face and one raised eyebrow.

Ron opened his mouth and then closed it, looking down at the bowl for a moment before looking back up. “Does that mean you don’t want the pudding?”

Without a word, Harry charged up the stairs. If he were lucky, he could hide under the covers until everyone was gone.

 

____________________

 

Harry loved Ron, he really did, which was why he was so completely horrified with himself for what he’d said on the stairs. Yelling ‘I’m not gay!’ to someone for offering you pudding was as bad as having yelled, ‘I like cock!’ At least it was in Harry’s estimation, especially when Ron didn’t immediately follow him.

God, what was he going to say later? What would Ron say? Would Ron ignore it completely and pretend it hadn’t happened? Somehow, Harry hoped not. He had never been brave enough to mention his quavering sexuality to anyone; not Ron, not Dumbledore, not McGonagall, and certainly not Sirius.

Dumbledore didn’t have a judgmental bone in his body where Harry was concerned, but for some reason, it hadn’t seemed appropriate. He was, after all, the Headmaster of Hogwarts and as such was always terribly busy. There hadn’t been a time or place that Harry would have felt comfortable perking up and saying, “I think I’m gay.”

McGonagall had always made Harry feel protected and safe. There was a side to her that the rest of the students never saw, but that Harry was thankful for, the side that tucked him in after nightmares and made sure the house elves brought all his favorite foods at meal times. However, during his third year, she had pulled him aside to give him a talk about ‘birds and the bees.’ It had been the most awkward and embarrassing conversation he had ever had and if that had been bad, he could only imagine how bad it would be if he decided to blurt out that he was gay.

Oh, and the idea of telling Sirius was petrifying. Sirius was his godfather, the closest thing to real family that he had outside of the Dursley’s. He could just imagine the look of disappointment.

Ron had been the only one that he’d given a second thought to. Ron was his best mate and he didn’t want to lose him. The door creaked open and Harry pulled his knees up to his chest. Please don’t let it be Ron; let it be Neville, or Dean, or Seamus - okay, not Seamus, the boy had absolutely no tact, but anyone else…

“Harry?” It was Ron.

Harry sighed and uncurled himself, refusing to face this looking like a petulant child. “Yes?”

The curtains parted and Ron sat on his bed, clasping his hands in his lap and looking as awkward as Harry felt. “So, you’re… not gay, then.”

Harry flinched and looked at his bed, not wanting to see Ron’s face in case it was mocking or teasing. “Um… yes. I think.”

The silence stretched out between them and Harry was just about to say that he was going to go take a shower, or anything else he could think of to escape, when Ron said, “You know, it’d be alright if you were. Gay, I mean. I wouldn’t care. Well, unless you had a crush on ferret-boy or something. Imagine snogging Malfoy.”

Harry felt his stomach sink and he chuckled nervously, before looking up at Ron through his lashes, “That’s disgusting, Ron.”

Ron laughed, “Yeah, it is. Feel better?”

Slowly, Harry nodded, realizing that he did feel better. “Thanks, Ron.”

A few more minutes of silence stretched between them and Ron spoke up again, this time, much more confident of himself than he had been before, “So, why do you think you’re gay?”

Harry shrugged, amazed that he hadn’t turned bright red at the question. “I dunno.   Just, maybe I kissed a bloke and felt… something.”

His friend’s mouth dropped open. “Who?!”

“Not telling.” The last thing he needed was Ron knowing that it was ‘ferret-boy’ he’d been snogging.

Ron shook his head in wonder, “But you’ve never kissed a girl.” It was said with the confidence of someone who knew that they weren’t going to be contradicted and as much as Harry wished he could say otherwise, it was true. If he’d kissed a girl, he’d have told Ron right away.

Finally, Ron shrugged, “Well, that’s it then, you need to kiss a girl and see how it feels. You could just like kissing.”

Harry felt himself smiling. He didn’t think that Ron was right, but the fact that he was trying to help and not blaming him for possibly being gay, made him Harry feel much better than he had since before the Triwizard Tournament even started. “You’re a good friend, Ron, you know that?”

Ron’s face turned red under his freckles, but he didn’t look away. “So, who do you fancy kissing? And it better not be Pansy Parkinson, or I’m committing you to St. Mungo’s, mate.”

Harry threw a pillow in Ron’s face, knocking him from the bed, but he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. Whatever happened, at least he knew he had Ron and Hermione.

 

____________________

 

“Get up those stairs and pack your things. We’re leaving in the hour.”

Draco stared, dumbfounded at his father, “I just got home a week ago.”

Lucius crossed his arms over his chest, his snakehead cane hanging from his left hand, “And now you are leaving again. I’ve spoken with Dumbledore, a carriage will be taking you back to Hogwarts immediately.”

He couldn’t even begin to think straight. He’d spent the entire train ride listening to Pansy prattle on about he-couldn’t-even-remember what and in the past week he’d been yanked around to every shop that his mother had ever deemed worthy. However, the moment he’d finally gotten some time alone so that he could sit back and not think about kissing Harry, his father had told him that he was leaving again.

“What are you standing there for? I said get upstairs and put your things together. You’ll be staying at Hogwarts for the rest of the summer.”

Finally, he managed to get out the word that had been stuck in his throat. “Why?”

Lucius grabbed his arm, ignoring his son’s protests, and began dragging him towards the marble staircase, “Because I am your father and I told you to. If you don’t get moving _now_ , I will be very disappointed.”

Draco paled slightly as he remembered himself. He shouldn’t have talked back. The offence of disappointing his father invariable led to a caning and if he were going to be forced to go back to Hogwarts so soon, he was not going to do it limping. With a quick, “yes, Father,” he turned and ran up the stairs to his room.

An hour later he was sitting in the carriage, trying to concentrate on the passing scenery, because every time he thought about kissing Harry, or touching Harry, or, hell, just Harry, he started to get hard and that wasn’t a good thing when his father was in the seat across from him with their knees less than two feet apart.

Why was he being sent back to Hogwarts already? What had he done? Had he done anything? Was it to do with the Triwizard Tournament? Was he being sent to spy on Harry or on Dumbledore? His mind teemed with questions that he couldn’t bring himself to actually ask; partly, because he was afraid of the answers and partly because he was afraid it would piss off his father. After nearly half an hour of riding in silence, however, he decided that facing his father’s wrath was preferable to the torture on not knowing.

“Father, why are you sending me to Hogwarts so soon?”

“Our Lord has returned.”

No hesitation, no uncertainty about whether he should tell his son something like that. Our Lord. Not ‘my Lord’ or ‘the Dark Lord,’ but ‘our Lord,’ meaning Draco’s lord as well as his father’s. He remembered what Dumbledore had said at the feast. He hadn’t thought it could be true, but he should have known. The way Harry had looked when he’d appeared back on the field, like he was near death, should have been enough to tell him what had happened. “At the Tournament?”

Lucius nodded, “Yes. He’s still weak, but he gains strength with every day. Soon, he will be his old self again and we can continue where we left off thirteen years ago.”

“Then why…”

“The Dark Lord will be anxious to meet you.”

He didn’t understand why, but he knew from the tight set of his father’s face that Lucius was trying to keep that from happening. “I don’t understand…”

“Our Lord has plans for Potter. Keep an eye on him. Keep an eye on Dumbledore, as well. Above all, keep your nose clean.”

It sounded like an excuse, more than an explanation. His father had given him instructions like that before, but he’d been more specific, given him details and told him how to go about it. ‘Gain his trust. He is a Gryffindor, yes, but above all he is a Potter. Follow him, eat with him, talk to him, fly with him, just stay in his presence and when the time comes he will feel some loyalty towards you. He will feel the need to protect you.’ Lucius Malfoy never trusted his son to do anything correctly unless the instructions were as detailed as possible, but Draco knew when he was being told to shut up, and he went back to looking out the window.

He’d known since he was very young that his father had been a Death Eater, it was something talked about with a moderate amount of pride; at least when he was alone with Draco, or in the company of like-minded ‘friends’. Draco had also known that he would be expected to join their ranks some day, when the Dark Lord returned, but it had always felt like more of a fairy tale than a reality. The Dark Lord was dead and- even though his father had said very clearly ‘the Dark Lord is not dead, he will rise again and the purebloods will be given the respect that they deserve’ – somehow he just hadn’t been able to get past the idea that the Dark Lord was dead and everyone knew that the dead couldn’t be brought back.

Now, he wasn’t so sure. His father had said that the Dark Lord had returned. Dumbledore had said it, too. Harry hadn’t had to, it was written all over his face the night of the Third Task.   Those green eyes that were usually so bright had full of life and courage and tenacity had been dead, that was all Draco needed in the way of confirmation.

So, what was he going to do? The Dark Lord would want to see him. Did that mean he was expected to join _now_? He was only a fifth year! Surely a fifth year couldn’t be of any use to the Dark Lord. He wasn’t fully trained; he hadn’t taken his OWLS, let alone his NEWTS, but would those things really matter to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Draco couldn’t imagine that putting in a CV was required to join the Death Eaters.

God, he was going to join the Death Eaters. His father would insist on it, wouldn’t he? Maybe he was sending Draco away so that he wouldn’t get in the way. Maybe there were going to be meetings at the house. Or maybe his father didn’t want him to meet the Dark Lord. Maybe his father was… protecting him?

He glanced sidelong at the man and considered that possibility, but he couldn’t even begin to wrap his head round it. It just didn’t sound like something his father would do. At least, not where the Dark Lord was concerned. His father absolutely worshiped him, wouldn’t he be proud that Lord Voldemort (he shuddered inwardly at the name) wanted Draco?

It was just too much to think about. Looking out the window, Draco stared out the window, imagining he was lying on the Quidditch Field with Harry, putting shapes and names to the passing clouds.   It had been silly then and it was silly now, especially when he should be thinking about his father and the Dark Lord, or what he might feel for Harry, but somehow it was comforting and that was enough.

 

____________________

 

The carriage pulled up and Draco stepped out to Snape and Harry, waiting as always. Harry was much more subdued than usual; he didn’t glare at Lucius and he didn’t run off at the first opportunity. Instead, he stood there with his hands at his side, occasionally giving Draco half glances, but mostly looking at the floor.

His mind seemed to shift and he was back in the stands, watching Harry fly as he dodged the attacks of the angry dragon. Every time Harry feinted at the last minute, every dive he took had sent Draco’s stomach plummeting and he’d been so angry and relieved afterward, after he knew that Harry was safe and that the task was over. It was so stupid of him to enter the Tournament, to agree to participate. What, did he have a death wish, because that was what it looked like?

Draco dragged himself from the memory as his father clapped a hand on his shoulder, saying something about… something, but Draco hadn’t been paying attention. Damn, he was thinking about it again. He wasn’t supposed to think about it. Hadn’t he told himself that his goal that summer was to pretend nothing had happened and that he hadn’t been desperately upset for Harry’s safety during every task?

Snape nodded back at Lucius and Harry glanced up, catching Draco’s eye. The other boy’s lip was slightly red where he’d been chewing on it and his eyes were misted over in confusion and uncertainty. Well, Draco reasoned, at least he wasn’t alone, then.

Suddenly, his father turned and stepped back up into the carriage and Draco realized that he had missed the entire conversation. He hoped that nothing had been said he should have been paying attention to; like hinted instructions, or some indication of how long he would be staying there, or if they would be in the dungeons or McGonagall’s tower this time. His eyes widened and he dropped them to the ground. Oh, please, let them be staying in the dungeon, he didn’t think he could handle lying in that close of a proximity with Harry after… _not thinking about it_!

A shoulder brushed his and he looked over to see Harry walking beside him as they followed Snape down. Thank god, they were going to the dungeons, at least there he could force himself to one side of the bed and pretend that he couldn’t feel the heat of Harry sleeping next to him.

They came to an abrupt halt outside of Snape’s door and Draco found that he was caught so off guard, he nearly ran into the man. Thank god Harry had put his hand on Draco’s arm or he might have. He was suddenly very aware of the hand burning against his arm. Sure, he had a shirt on, but he needed more, perhaps a winter cloak, not to feel the strange warmth that spread from those fingers up his arm and down into his groin. _Not thinking about_ it!

“Usually, Harry would be spending the next week with McGonagall and I would have that time to finish sorting things out from the school year. However, circumstances being what they are,” he didn’t bother to elaborate, but then he didn’t need to, “you boys will be staying here for the entirety of the summer, or at least until one of the other Professor’s takes pity on me.”

He heard Harry mutter something that sounded suspiciously like, ‘not bloody likely,’ but either Snape didn’t hear it, or pretended not to, because he continued on, unabated. “For the next few days I expect complete silence. If you feel the need to laugh or play, you shall do so elsewhere. The school is very well protected as long as you stay within its walls.” He glared at Harry pointedly. “Have I made myself clear?”

Harry nodded, still not looking up and Draco forced himself to, as well, though he couldn’t say the last time he had seen Snape in such an ill temper, especially when one of his Slytherins was involved. With a terse nod, he held open the door and Harry scrambled in under his arm, having to duck because he had managed to grow several more inches through the school year and now stood head to chest with Snape.

Draco remembered a comment Harry had once made while they were eating in the kitchens. The dark haired boy had been eating nearly twice as much as Draco and when Draco had commented on this, Harry had shrugged, saying that he just hoped all the years of over-eating at Hogwarts would somehow make up for his years of malnourishment at the Dursleys’. Draco hadn’t understood what it meant, then, but he thought he might now.

They went into the room and Draco saw the little moving dragon and the egg sitting on Harry’s desk. His chest tightened as he remembered watching the water, waiting for Harry to resurface. He’d seen Fleur come back, then Cedric, and then Krum, but where was Harry? Was he in danger?   He’d silently cursed Dumbledore for putting his Harry in danger, hoping that his concern looked more like annoyed boredom. When had Harry become his?

Moving to the bed, he lay down on it and turned his back to Harry as the other boy sat own on the other side of him. Harry lay on the bed stiffly next to an equally tense Draco, pretending to watch the ceiling. He still couldn’t think of anything to say, he’d had the whole day to come up with something, but hadn’t even managed ‘hello’, because after the kind of kiss Draco had given him, ‘hello’ sounded a bit trite.

In truth, he wanted to kiss Draco back, he wanted to lie on the bed and have a very long, deep snog session that would set him on fire the way it had a few short weeks ago, and possibly answer a few very important questions for him about his feeling for a certain blonde Slytherin, but he couldn’t very well say that either.

“Draco.”

“Hm?”

“How was it at the Manor?”

Draco had a very vivid image of himself strangling Harry, but instead answered, “All right, I suppose. Mother took me shopping.”

“Oh.”

Then it was silent again and Draco was left to wish Harry would say something. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he knew that he was absolutely terrified that Harry hadn’t enjoyed it, that he’d simply been caught off guard and now that he’d had the time to think about it he was disgusted.

“Draco.”

“Hm?”

“It’s really boring here without…” Harry hesitated

Draco held his breath. “Without what?”

“…anything to do.”

He let the breath go and frowned at the ceiling. This wasn’t going anywhere.

“Draco.”

“What, Harry?”

“I lied.”

“You?”

“Yeah.”

“About what?”

“Never mind.”

Bugger. Draco sat up and looked down at Harry, not bothering to disguise his annoyance, as it seemed a perfectly suitable emotion at the time. “Harry.”

“What?”

“If you can’t string two words together at a time, then don’t bother trying.”

From the confused look on Harry’s face he was afraid he’d said something wrong, but the brows slowly unknit themselves and the frowning mouth turned slightly upwards in a smile. “Don’t suppose I feel much like talking.”

 _Not that you have to_.   Draco beat down the thought and concentrated on the boy next to him. “Well, it was more than two words.”

Harry didn’t rise to the bait, just stared at him with that damnable smile, so Draco decided to ask, “What do you feel like doing?”

It felt like he’d said the magic word. Or phrase, but he couldn’t quite put a clear thought together because Harry had put a hand on the back of his head and pulled him down into a kiss. It was nothing like before. Before Draco had been angry and it had been a way of expressing everything he thought he might feel, but couldn’t say. This was warm and it spread through him like Butterbeer and made his toes tingle.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, lips pressing together, but he wished it were longer. Of course, he was the one to pull back, still very unsure of himself and of Harry, who was sighing contentedly. “That was… actually rather nice. You’ve got a lot of practice?”

Of all the… Draco threw himself onto his back with a huff. Of course he didn’t have practice, he’d only ever kissed Pansy, and Harry had made it sound like he was some sort of… of kiss-tramp. “What do you know, Potter.”

“Draco.”

“What?”

Harry ignored his snippy tone. “Hermione said that when I disappeared at the tournament you said my name.   She said you jumped out of your seat and shouted ‘Harry’ and that Snape had to pull you back. Ron saw it too.”

Draco blanched. “The weasel saw that?”

“Don’t call him that and yes, although he’s convinced himself it was a sort of daytime nightmare, induced by the shock of my disappearing. I had to tell Hermione the truth, though.”

Draco sat, staring at Harry in open horror, “You told that filthy…”

“So help me, Draco, if you finish that I will hang you upside down from the tower again.” Draco narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything else. “I didn’t tell her everything, I didn’t tell her that we toss each other off or anything. I just told her that we’d been forced to spend time together every summer since we were nine. She was very impressed that we hadn’t killed each other by now.”

“Not from lack of trying.”

There was that smile again. “So, that out of the way, I suppose I just want to know what made you do that in front of everyone? I mean, it’s just me.”

That was the problem. Draco bit his bottom lip while he thought. He didn’t know why he’d done it, other than the moment Harry was gone it had been like a big whole had opened up in the pit of his stomach and he’d wanted it back.   He’d wanted Harry back where he could see him. He hadn’t even known he’d stood up until Snape was yanking him back down and it was all he could do to breath. It didn’t even matter that his father was sitting beside him, staring down disapprovingly.

Timidly, he leaned down and put his lips to Harry’s. He pushed his tongue against Harry’s teeth and the other boy opened his mouth willingly, without hesitation. Draco couldn’t explain what he felt for Harry, he knew he felt something, he knew it wasn’t just friendship, but beyond that he was stumped. So he decided it was probably best not to try and put it into words in case he cocked it up.

_Harry’s disappearing hadn’t even been the worst part. The worst part had come when he didn’t return and Draco had had to sit there for almost ten minutes waiting for something to happen and when something finally did happen he wished it hadn’t. On either side of him, he heard two grown men inexplicably hiss in pain. He’d looked first at his father, then at Snape. Both had their hands over their forearms, eyes nearly squinched shut in pain and he knew what that meant. He didn’t even know how he’d known, he just did._

Draco reached his hand down and worked it under Harry’s shirt, feeling the perfectly flat, smooth skin under his hand, relishing the deep moan reverberating in his mouth.

_His father had gotten up and left and Snape had put a steadying hand on Draco’s shoulder. All he’d wanted to do at that moment was vomit. It had been absurd, but he hadn’t taken the time to analyze it then and he’d be damned if he was going to bother now. He just knew that he had to get back to the castle. They were just at the bottom of the stands when Harry had reappeared. Draco hadn’t gotten a good look at him, there were too many people racing towards his fallen friend, but it was good enough, it was enough to know that Harry and Diggory were lying in the grass, not moving._

Harry’s fingers worked into Draco’s hair, sending sparks off in his head. He moved his hand from its comfortable resting place on Harry’s warm hip, to nudge down his zip.

_Snape hadn’t let him go to check on Harry, because others would have seen. They’d managed to keep too many things secret for too long to fuck it up because Draco was worried about the Gryffindor Golden Boy, but Snape didn’t understand - it wasn’t just the Gryffindor Golden Boy lying there, it was Harry._

Harry arched off the bed when Draco touched the flesh of his penis and moved his legs in a desperate attempt to kick off the underwear and trousers bunched up just above his knees. Draco couldn’t ever remember Harry moving so much, or being so pliant. They had both been so stiff, this felt nothing like the mutual wanks they had shared over the years, this was different, but he couldn’t understand how it could be so different when it was the same thing.

_When they’d finally gotten back to Snape’s quarters, Draco had run to bathroom and thrown up until he could taste acid in his mouth and then threw up some more. It wasn’t until Snape had come in and given him a potion to quell his nausea that he’d been able to stop and just sit on the bathroom floor, shaking in exhaustion from the effort._

He moved his hand over Harry’s length, feeling the smooth flesh not so very different from his own for what felt like the first time. The veins were pulsing against his fingers, imprinting themselves on his palm. Harry’s hand reached down his trousers, grasping at him and he didn’t think he’d last long between that and the lips pressing against his.

_When he’d heard Diggory was dead later than night he silently prayed for someone to tell him that Harry wasn’t, but the other Slytherins weren’t interested in Harry and they didn’t suppose that Draco would be, either.   So, he’d waited for them to go to sleep and then snuck in the infirmary and sat in a chair, watching Harry in his drug induced sleep, afraid that if he blinked the chest would stop moving rhythmically up and down.   He’d sat like that for over an hour, afraid to touch him, afraid that it wasn’t real, until he’d had to leave or risk getting caught._

_All Draco could think about the next morning when he’d shoved Harry against the wall was that he wanted to make sure he was really there. He hadn’t meant to kiss him, hadn’t meant to do anything but shout at him for being stupid enough to enter the tournament in the first place and he didn’t care if it wasn’t Harry’s fault because he was so angry at the mere thought that Harry might have been gone, and he’d kissed him, pouring all his anger and frustration into grinding the other boy against the wall with his body and mouth._

He’d never felt anything like the orgasm that coursed through him as he spilled over Harry’s hand, ruining his underpants, but he didn’t really care about those right now, silk be damned, because Harry was coming as well, and he could feel it in the way the shaft throbbed and Harry made little whimpering noises from his throat and the way the tongue against his went suddenly still and then frantic all at once.

He continued pumping until he felt it just beginning to go limp in hand. Draco pressed his tongue into Harry’s mouth one more time and then fell over on the bed, panting heavily at the ceiling.

It was silent again.

 

____________________

 

Harry knew he liked Draco, but he refused to spend any length of time analysing it, because it only led to confusion. They had almost nothing in common other than Quidditch. Draco hated Muggleborns, Harry rather liked them. Draco had a blasé attitude towards Voldemort’s return - he just couldn’t see how it affected him - Harry was just waiting for the next attempt on his life by the Dark Lord and dreading going to sleep at night for fear of visions.   Draco thought that the only time things were fun and interesting was when he wasn’t supposed to be doing them, Harry, despite his school record, much preferred to stay out of trouble.  The list just went on, but for every thing Harry came up with that made them different it was followed by, “but I like him.” Draco made him blush with suggestive comments and when they fought it was all he could do to keep his hands off the little twit. Like earlier that day.

“Hey, Potter, I was just thinking about something.”

Harry hadn’t even bothered to look up from the letter he was writing. When Draco called him by his last name, it was usually because he was planning something that Harry wouldn’t like. “What?”

“Remember when we were little and we used to sit around talking to Sir Cadogan?”

He dipped his quill back in the ink and kept writing. Dumbledore had been dodging him all summer, Ron and Hermione had completely ignored any of his questions as to what was going on, even Sirius, who was usually the first person to answer all of his questions, was tight lipped. It was frustrating and it didn’t help to have Draco bugging him every time he tried to write a letter.

“You sat around talking to Sir Cadogan, I stood behind you trying to read a book and waiting until you got bored with it.”

“Exactly.”

Abandoning the letter, Harry turned around to see Draco sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at him expectantly. “Draco, was there a point to this?”

“Nope, I just like annoying you.”

Deep breathes. Long, deep breathes. “Is this because you’re bored?”

“Isn’t it always? I want to go… I dunno, re-live my childhood, or something. Let’s go talk to Sir Cadogan.”

“I’m not going to talk to Sir Cadogan. You know where he is, if you’re so desperate for his company.”

He turned away, but soon heard the soft pad of Draco’s bare feet on the floor as the other boy got off the bed and came to stand behind Harry, breathing in his ear. “Dear Sirius, What’s going on? Dumbledore’s never around and when he is, he’s too busy to talk to me. Ro…”

Harry flipped the paper over and stood up, shoving Draco back.   “Stop it, Malfoy.”

Draco shoved him back, his smirk never leaving his face.  “Make me, Potter.”

Harry shoved him again, putting his strength behind it and Draco stumbling back, his legs hitting the edge of the bed. “You are such a prat, Malfoy!”

“You like it, Potter.” That was all the warning Harry got before Malfoy grabbed him and spun him around so that Harry was the one pressed half against the bed. Fifteen minutes and an earth shattering orgasm later and Harry couldn’t remember why he’d been so aggravated to begin with.

That was how it always happened. Draco became annoying, Harry got annoyed, and they ended up bumping and grinding and touching on the bed, or against the wall, once on the floor, and another time on top of a desk in an unused classroom. It was unnerving, it was sick and wrong, and it felt really, really good.

 

____________________

 

 

Snape, had taken to glaring at them both at every opportunity, especially Harry, but then that was nothing new and although Draco didn’t appreciate being one of the subjects of Snape’s glaring, he would have been more shocked had Snape left them entirely alone. “Elbows off the table, Mr. Potter, you’d think you were raised by low class muggles instead of the entire staff of a prestigious wizarding school.”

Harry’s eye twitched, but he said nothing, removing his elbows from the table and then reached for a fork.

“That is a salad fork, Mr. Potter.  After over five years, one would think you had absorbed something of proper etiquette.”

Draco was more than slightly surprised when Harry set down the fork and reached for the other one, saying nothing as he used it to pick up a bit of chicken.

“Small bites, boy, I refused to watch you cram a bite as big as your fist into your mouth. It is entirely uncouth.”

With a deep breath, Harry set down the bite and took up the knife, quietly cutting it, before putting it in his mouth. Although, it was obvious that his patience was wearing thin.

“Mouth closed, I will not watch food rumble around your gaping orifice.”

With that, the dark haired boy’s resolve snapped. “Is it alright if I exist, Professor, or should I just stop breathing all together?”

Snape seemed to barely restrain himself from reaching across the table and smacking the petulant frown off his charge’s face. Instead, he sent Harry to his room to finish his dinner (because Dumbledore had mandated that Snape could not starve Harry). Draco watched him pick up his plate and walk away, his steps a little more forceful than strictly necessary.

Recently, it seemed that Harry had developed a great deal of patience, although there was no telling when he would finally loose it and blow up. Snape, on the other hand, had absolutely no desire to deal with Harry on any level and took every excuse to send the Gryffindor to his room, even when it was very clear that this was more of a reward than a punishment.

Draco quietly finished his meal, taking small, well-proportioned bites. Lucius had made sure that Draco had been taught proper etiquette starting at the young age of six and so keeping his elbows off the table and picking up the right fork came second nature to him.   Snape, however, wasn’t paying any attention to him. Just to make sure, he purposefully took his salad fork and used to it to eat his chicken. Four bites later, he decided that, no, Snape wasn’t interested in him at all. How annoying.

“Professor, may I be excused?”

Snape nodded, but didn’t look up from his plate. While Draco wasn’t interested in being on the receiving end of Snape’s foul temper, he did prefer that Snape at least look at him. With a sigh, he pushed back from the table and went to the bathroom, rinsing off his hands absently.

As he slipped through the living room and into the bedroom, he felt a stab of annoyance that Snape had apparently left the room without saying anything to him. Harry was sitting at his desk again, his empty plate pushed aside and his feet propped on the edge of his chair, holding an open book on his knees. Draco closed the door, leaning against it and cocking his head to one side, taking in the perturbed knit of Harry’s eyebrows.

“You really know how to piss him off.”

Harry didn’t look up, but it was obvious that he wasn’t really reading the book. “He really knows how to piss me off.”

“Still, that was hardly the way to go about winning favors from the man.”

Draco pushed off the door and walked past Harry, sitting on the bed. Harry didn’t looked up at him, although he stopped trying to pretend to read and set the book down on the desk.  “I don’t want to win favors from Professor Snape, I want him to leave me in peace.”

“Fat lot of good that will do you come next year. If you expect to pass potions, you’d better want to earn favor.”

“You make that sound like he’s trading blow jobs for grades.”

“Maybe he is.” Harry looked up at that, his eyes wide in shock. Draco chuckled, “You are so gullible, Harry. Come on, I have a letter I want to send out.”

He reached into his bedside dresser and pulled out the envelope he had sealed the day before. It had taken him a great deal of time to come to terms with sending it, but it came down to the simple fact that he had no other means of getting what he wanted, so he would have to hope that Goyle was even denser than he thought.

Harry looked at Draco curiously, “Can’t it wait until morning? You know Snape doesn’t let us out after dinner.”

Draco shook his head; there was no way he would be able to send this during the day, none at all. “Just get your cloak and let’s go.”

With a roll of his eyes, Harry dug around his trunk and pulled out the invisible cloak. “He’ll know we’re gone.”

“No, he won’t, and besides, I’ll take the blame if he gets upset.” He’d been doing a lot of that lately, taking the blame where Snape was concerned, but he’d realized something about Harry that he thought should have been obvious from the start. If Draco did something wrong, all he had to do was apologize and Harry forgave him, albeit with a lecture. If Draco wanted to get on Harry’s good side, he simply had to do something wrong, wait until Snape started to shout at Harry and then step forward. For some reason, Harry went all to mush over this and ended up staring at Draco like he was some kind of confusing savior, but a savior none-the-less.

It was enough to fill Draco’s head and make him do stupid things on the off chance that they’d get caught and he could take the blame. Why Harry was so easily swayed by this tactic, Draco had no idea. It wasn’t as if Snape were going to truly punish Draco, he never did. The absolute worst case scenario was that Draco’s father would find out, which, while terrifying if he stopped to think about it, seemed a very long way off.

Harry eyed Draco suspiciously, but eventually, shrugged and went to his trunk. He rummaged around for a while and finally came up with a rolled up piece of parchment and the invisible cloak.   After several seconds of biting his lip in the most delicious fashion (thoughtful, it had been thoughtful), Harry had put the parchment back and closed his trunk, locking it.

Snape was still nowhere to be seen, but just to be sure, Draco went first, sliding out the door and looking down the corridor before motioning for Harry to join him. As was usual during the holidays, the castle was deserted in a way that felt unreal.   Every breath and every step echoed off the walls and Harry finally stopped and motioned for Draco to take off his shoes, determined that they were too loud.

With a disgruntled sigh, Draco complied, but only because he was didn’t want to piss Harry off before they got to bed. It was absurd, a Malfoy walking barefoot down the corridors of Hogwarts.   Malfoys didn’t go barefoot, but then Malfoys didn’t grope other boys in the middle of the night to get off.

Finally, they reached the door and Harry quietly opened it, cringing as several of the birds hooted at him, turning their heads nearly upside down as if to get a better look at who had come in. Hedwig was near the door and Harry went over to her, stroking her feathers while Draco went to his own owl and tied the letter, which jangled with the weight of galleons, to its leg.  “Take this to Gregory Goyle,” he started to turn away and then turned back, “and nip at his hand a little.”

“Hey!” He looked over to see Harry, who was staring at him incredulously. “Is that why the damned thing kept biting me all year, because you told it to?”

Draco shrugged, “Of course.” Before Harry could reply, Draco grabbed his hand and pulled him away from Hedwig and out the door, “Come on, we’ve got to hurry back before Snape notices we’ve gone.”

He thought he heard Harry mumble something that sounded like, “bet he already has,” but ignored it. They’d made it nearly half way back when the sound of footsteps froze them both in place. Harry was the first to react; he grabbed Draco and pulled him against him, sweeping the cloak around them, and holding his breath.

The footsteps stopped, then started again. Draco pressed himself harder against Harry, hoping to minimize the chance that whoever it was would run into them. The movement, however, cause him to rub a certain, very sensitive part of his anatomy against an equally sensitive part of Harry’s.

Harry’s body stiffened against him and Draco grinned wickedly at the other boy, who shook his head imploringly. Well, it really was the do-gooder Gryffindor’s fault, if he didn’t want to be molested, he shouldn’t have put himself between Draco and the wall. Moving his hands from where they were pressed against the wall, he put them on Harry’s hips to hold them still.

Slowly Draco began to rock against the body in front of him and Harry’s eyes practically rolled into his head, his cock coming to instant attention at the friction. Draco forced back a moan and pressed his mouth into Harry’s shoulder, biting down slightly to keep from making noise as he picked up the pace. Something about the danger of being caught and the little half pants of Harry’s suppressed breathing in his ear made it that much more exciting.

The footsteps were now accompanied by mumbling and Draco knew it was Snape without even really paying attention, but that wasn’t what he cared about. He bit harder into the shoulder and Harry gave a muffled squeak. Draco looked up and saw that Harry had pressed a hand over his mouth. His pupils were dilated so large that Draco could barely see green in the wide eyes.

Without even thinking about what he was doing, Draco moved Harry’s hand out of the way and kissed him, delving his tongue into the shocked mouth before it could close. Harry’s hands moved from the wall, to Draco’s arms, to his shoulders. Somehow, Draco expected Harry to push him away, they may have done things like this before, but never when there was a chance they could get caught, but Harry just held on tighter.

A lantern swung into view just as Draco felt his balls tighten and he kissed Harry harder, and tightened his grip on the other boy’s arm as he rode it out, trying to ignore what was definitely Snape muttering under his breath as he walked past them. Harry was shaking just slightly, his breath coming in little huffs against Draco’s lips. Slowly, the footsteps faded to nothing and the corridor became as pitch black as it had been before.

Then, very suddenly, Draco found himself on his arse on the floor, with a very pissed off Harry Potter towering over him. “Draco, you complete idiot, that was stupid. We could have gotten caught. You may think this is all fun and games, but I have to live with that man every day during the summer and attend classes with him every term. The last thing I need is to be caught by him in the act of… getting off in an empty corridor with _you_.”

“Hey!” Why did Harry have to make it sounded like it would have been better had it been someone else? “We weren’t going to get caught.”

“You don’t know that.” Harry enunciated each word as if he were talking to a three-year-old and Draco felt his neck heating in anger.

“Oh, like you care so much about the rules. You spend all year tossing them about without a care and suddenly they matter?”

Harry’s green eyes narrowed, “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Malfoy.”

“Stuff it, Potter.”

The next thing he knew they were rolling around the floor, punching and shoving each other like pissed off schoolgirls. It was undignified, it was uncouth, it was uncultured, but it was making him hard and he’d only just cum. As the fighting turned less aggressive and more intimate, Draco was, for once, very glad he was a teenage boy.

 

____________________

 

They had been at it again. Not that they did anything else, but Snape could always hope. He’d searched the entire castle and eventually found them back in the room, Draco looking very pleased with himself and the Potter brat looking exorbitantly guilty. They were both in pajamas, but the clothes currently folding on top of the trunks at the foot of the bed were wrinkled and dishevelled and… good god were those stains?

Draco opened his mouth and Snape held up a hand, “Don’t bother to make excuses, Draco, I don’t want to hear them.”

The blonde eyebrows drew together in confusion, “But…”

“No, I can ignore some things, Draco, as you well know, but your father has entrusted me with your safety and there are reasons why I ask you to stay in your room at night.”

“We didn’t leave the castle.”

“Black got into the castle; I daresay there are a great many people out there smarter than he is.” Draco only scoffed at this, and Snape found himself irritated at the flippant behaviour.  “Potter has obviously been a bad influence. Perhaps it would be best to separate the two of you for the remainder of the summer.” Silently he added, ‘and leave me what little sanity I have.’

“You can’t!” Whatever Snape had expected, it hadn’t been for Draco to outburst, practically throwing himself at Snape and stomping his foot on the ground like a spoiled toddler.   He was so much like his father.

“I assure you that I can and I will. Professor McGonagall has decided to stay at the castle this summer and I will see to it that Potter returns to her care and you remain in mine.”

“But I don’t want him sent away. He’s all there is to keep my company while I’m locked up in this place.”

“You’ll still get to see him, Draco, you just won’t be sleeping in the same bed.”

Draco’s cheeks went immediately pink, not that it stopped him from continuing in his tantrum.   “That’s not fair!”

Potter had said nothing, his head cast towards the floor and he took in the reprimand with so little argument it aggravated Snape further. “Perhaps the famous Harry Potter would care to tell us how he feels about this?”

Draco looked back at Harry immediately and it was obvious by his expectant gaze that he thought his ‘friend’ would take his side. However, instead of fighting, Harry shrugged, “Whatever the Professor thinks is best.”

It was said with just the slightest undertone of sarcasm and an emphasis on the word Professor that made Snape’s eye twitch. How was it that the boy managed to make his title seem like a mockery? “Yes, whatever I think is best. I’ll speak with Dumbledore in the morning.”

He closed the bedroom door and had to stop himself from locking it. What the hell had Potter been thinking going off on his own in the middle of the night? Yes, there had been little Death Eater activity, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t any and it didn’t mean that the boy was safe.  Of course, it helped to know that they hadn’t actually left the castle this time. So help him, if Potter had thrown all caution to the wind and gone outside, no matter what the reason, Snape would have thrashed him, Dumbledore be damned.

The sound of yelling started to make its way through the door, specifically, Draco’s yelling. Snape moved away and went to his room, casting a charm on the front door to keep it locked throughout the night. Curse Lucius for leaving him in charge of two randy teenagers. In fact, yes, cursing Lucius sounded like a wonderful idea. Perhaps he could get Minerva to agree to babysit.

 

____________________

 

“Good gracious, Harry, what is that on your neck?!”

The day after Draco had accosted Harry in the hallway, Snape had firecalled Professor McGonagall and told her that the two of them were blatantly disobeying orders, that Harry had gone out at night without supervision, and that he thought it might be best if she were to take Harry for the rest of the summer on the off chance that Snape might kill his charge. Well, he hadn’t said the last bit, but it had been well enough implied by the way his hands twitched every time he said ‘Potter’.

Of course, Professor McGonagall had been more than amendable to the idea and had informed Snape that she would have to leave the castle for three days to get some things, but when she returned, she would immediately take Harry off his hands, then she had winked at Harry, which would have been comforting if Snape hadn’t seen. As it was, the Potion’s Master had spent the last three days making Harry’s life a living hell.   He took every opportunity to criticise him and he’d refused to let Harry take naps no matter how bone tired he was, and he was bone tired, because he certainly wasn’t getting any sleep at night.

Between Draco groping him at night (not that he was complaining about the groping, he liked the groping, it was more the lack of sleep that followed said groping that bothered him), the occasional violent vision sent to him by Voldemort, and Snape yelling at him every half hour, Harry was more than ready to go back with Professor McGonagall and be utterly thankful for his quiet little room in the tower.

Apparently, however, he had been a little too eager. He had completely forgotten about the fading marks that still marred his neck and shoulder from where Draco had bitten him. Granted, they had both been very careful since, only latching onto skin that would later be covered by shirts, but the marks that Draco had left were still there and very vivid and Professor McGonagall was very observant, especially when they had made it out of the dungeons and back into her well-lit chambers.

His hand flew up to his neck after her exclamation and he tried to think of a good excuse, suddenly realising that Snape hadn’t said a damned thing about them the entire time. He’d picked on everything else, but the subject of Harry’s mysterious wounds was left unspoken.   “Um… I…” He really couldn’t think of anything. ‘I fell’ sounded like an out and out lie. ‘Nothing’ was even worse.

McGonagall reached over and pulled his hand away, “Let me see that.” He could have said no and she probably would have backed off, but eventually she was going to see it again because he couldn’t walk around with his hand over his neck all the time. Why hadn’t he gone and looked up some good obscuring charms?

After several seconds of touching it and hm-ing to herself, she finally relented and pulled back, looking at him sternly. Harry dropped his eyes, waiting for the accusations to fly. Who had he been seeing? Had he snuck out of the castle? Instead, he felt a finger lift his chin up and found McGonagall staring at him with a very concerned look on her face, one that he hadn’t seen in years.

“Harry, did Professor Snape hit you again?”

His mouth dropped open. She couldn’t possibly… but they were obviously bite marks! How could she think otherwise? Still, he’d much rather not have to explain to her what they were and how he’d gotten them. “No, Professor, I just had an accident.”

“Where?” The concern was replaced by wariness that said she knew there was something he wasn’t telling her.

He couldn’t lie, she’d know, but he wasn’t going to tell her either. “I’d rather not say. I’m a bit embarrassed.”

With a hefty sigh, she pulled back and turned him around, shoving him towards the stairs. “Very well.   Now go and take a nap before you fall over on your feet.” He grinned happily and turned back towards her, giving her a quick hug before pelting back up the stairs.

 

____________________

 

Harry didn’t re-emerge from his room until nearly noon, but when he did, he felt much more rested. He wasn’t sure if he was surprised to find Draco waiting for him downstairs, but he was definitely annoyed. A few minutes peace a quiet would have been well earned considering everything he’d put up with in the last two week. Dear god, had it really been two weeks? It didn’t feel like it, it felt longer, or maybe shorter, but not two weeks.

Draco was on the couch, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at the coffee table. Harry looked around the room, but couldn’t find Professor McGonagall. She must have left at some point. “Draco, what are you doing here?”

Draco started and nearly kicked over the table in an effort to turn himself around towards the stairs. With a deep flush of embarrassment, he stood up and patted his robes down. “Finally! I got here almost an hour ago, Potter. Are you even dressed?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. It was much easier to be amused by Draco’s behaviour when he’d had sleep.   “Why didn’t you just wake me like you always do?”

With a scowl, Draco walked over to the stairs and leaned against the invisible barrier, “Professor McGonagall wouldn’t let me. She even charmed the entry way so I couldn’t get through and told me I was welcome to wait here for you to wake up. Malfoy’s don’t wait. Now, are you dressed or not, because I want to go flying.”

Harry shrugged and headed back up the stairs to put on one of his more worn shirts that he wouldn’t mind sweating in. When he got back, Draco was still standing in the same place, tapping his foot impatiently. “Took you long enough.”

Maybe sleep wasn’t the only thing he needed when dealing with Draco. He needed a stress ball, like the one Uncle Vernon used to use when he was mad at Harry, the one he’d squeezed so hard it eventually popped. Or maybe there was some kind of potion or spell that could make him more patient. Snape said there was a potion for everything. He offhandedly wondered what the Potions Master would do if Harry ever actually asked him about potions. Probably die of shock, which alone would be worth the effort.

Until then, however, he’d just have to do the best he could.   “Who’s taking us?”

“Snape.”

Harry almost tripped over his own feet, “What?!” Snape had never taken them flying. In fact, during the summer, the Professor did everything in his power to stay the hell away from them.

Draco grinned, “He tried to get one of the other Professors to do it, but none of them would. Dumbledore has them all working on wards and whatnot, so he said that Snape would have to do it. It’s what he gets for making you come stay all the way up here.”

With a great deal of effort, Harry managed not to remind Draco that he very much liked it ‘all the way up here’ and instead seethed over the fact that Draco had apparently seen Dumbledore when Harry hadn’t even said ‘hello’ to him thus far. It wasn’t like the Headmaster to keep Harry off to the side while he did things. Usually, he was all too happy to spend time with him and often he went out of his way to make time to eat meals with and simply talk to Harry to make sure that he was doing okay.

Snape was sitting in the stands when they got there, wearing a full set of black robes, despite it being nearly twenty-nine degrees out. “You have two hours, Draco, and then we are going inside. Am I clear?”

Draco nodded happily, pretending to ignore the sour tone of Snape’s voice. Harry wished he could do the same, unfortunately, he couldn’t help but feel bad for imposing on the man, even if he was a bastard.

Before he could apologise, Draco grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the broom shed. Just before they reached it, Draco’s hand slipped and for just an instant rested in his. Harry blushed as the pale fingers squeezed once around his own and then let go.

The masturbating, Harry had chalked up to teenage hormones and the kissing… well, that was a little harder, but Draco was strange and perhaps he was the sort of person to go around kissing someone even if they didn’t really like them. The handholding, however subtle a gesture it was, was something else entirely and while Harry had come to grips with the fact that he fancied Draco (if only a little) he wasn’t sure he was ready to admit that Draco may fancy him, nor did he gather that Draco would be willing to admit it either.

The Firebolt was thrust into his hand, cutting off his thoughts.   Draco raised one pale, inquisitive eyebrow, “What are you waiting for, we only have two hours?”

Harry turned his back and mounted the broom, more to cover the fact that he was still blushing than anything else. He’d have to think about it next time he was alone, which, thankfully, would be that night. He took a moment to be grateful that Professor McGonagall was letting him stay with her and, surprisingly, that Snape had even come up with the idea, before taking off after a rapidly disappearing Draco.

         

____________________

 

“Harry, you have a visitor!”

Harry quickly shoved the marker in his book and put it to the side, bolting down the stairs two at a time. Draco had left for lunch almost an hour ago, because Snape had insisted that he needed speak with him about something, though he wouldn’t say what. Harry had fully expected to find Draco waiting for him, impatient as he always was. Instead, he was faced with a very subdued looking Dumbledore.

Skidding a halt, Harry stared in shock at the Headmaster who had been practically hiding from him all summer. “Oh, um, hi, Professor.”

Dumbledore smiled, though it was considerably strained, “Hello, Harry, how has your summer been?”

Harry shrugged, “It’s alright. Is something wrong?” He refrained from adding, ‘Did I do something?’ because it was almost as if Dumbledore didn’t want to be there.

“I came to tell you that you’ll be leaving the castle shortly after your birthday.”

“Leaving?”

Dumbledore nodded, and Harry couldn’t help but feel that the Headmaster was staring just above his eyes, “Sirius has allowed us to use his home for the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix and he would very much like to see you.”

“What about Draco?”

For a moment, Dumbledore’s gaze slipped to his and Harry felt a surge of unexplained anger. He blinked and Dumbledore looked away, taking the anger with him. “I’m sure Draco can come up with something to keep himself occupied until he returns home.”

He left without another word and Harry stood, rooted to the spot while he turned the conversation over in his head. Dumbledore had never been so… dismissive before. It was almost like he hadn’t wanted to see Harry at all.   Professor McGonagall gave a little huff and walked over to Harry, putting an arm around his shoulder, “Why don’t you go find Mr. Malfoy, Harry, I’m sure Professor Snape’s finished with him by now.”

Nodding, he slipped on his shoes and left, feeling irritated and confused. Not that seeing Draco would change that. If anything, Draco was the most annoying, most confusing person that Harry knew, but if he dodged out and went to hide somewhere in the castle, then Draco would show up asking after him and McGonagall would get worried and Harry didn’t want to worry her if he could help it.

The dungeons were as bleak as ever, the stones cold to the touch and the air stuffy and stale. Maybe that was why Snape was always in such a bad mood; he was constantly breathing stale air. Perhaps if Harry could get the Potions Master out of the dungeons he’d lighten up, give someone other than a Slytherin a passing grade.

Softly, Harry knocked on the Snape’s door. Nearly a minute later, it still hadn’t opened. He was seriously considering knocking again when it swung open and Draco came charging out. He looked Harry up and down and then grabbed his wrist, dragging Harry after him. Snape’s voice followed them down the hall and Harry thought he heard him say, “Draco Malfoy, get back here!” but that couldn’t be right, because Draco would have stopped, right?

It wasn’t until they were out of the dungeons and half way up the first flight of stairs that Harry finally managed to pull away. “Draco, what’s going on?”

He was seriously getting aggravated with people not telling him what the matter was. First Dumbledore and now Draco? Only he didn’t have to put up with it from the Slytherin prat. Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry, “Shut it and follow me, Potter.”

Potter? What in Merlin’s name was Draco so upset about? “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m not gay!” Harry was struck by a strange sense of Déjà vu as he realized he was standing at the foot of the stairs just outside the great hall and Draco was standing two steps above him, looking slightly pink in the neck and cheeks and saying the exact same thing Harry had not one month ago.

“Um… okay.”

Draco stepped down to Harry’s level. “I’m not.”

They were standing less than a foot apart and Harry felt suddenly very uncomfortable. So far their arguments had all led to some kind of physical gratification and his body was feeling warm with embarrassment and the expectation of this yelling match ending the same way.   Taking a controlled breath Harry tried to press down the unwanted arousal.

“I never said you were.” Which was almost true, because he hadn’t ever actually said it, though he had thought so on more than one occasion.

“But I bet you’ve thought it.”

Damn, there went that defense. Harry bit his lip guiltily and Draco let out a cry of outrage before storming up the stairs. Oh, bloody hell.   He stormed up after the other boy. “Look, why does it matter what I think?”

“It doesn’t.” Draco stopped at the top of the stairs and turned around, crossing his arms over his chest in what Harry was sure was supposed to be an intimidating gesture. “Snape just spent the last hour lecturing me on the evils of homosexuality and the depraved kinds of people who practice it.”

“He what!?” Harry felt his knees start to buckle and grabbed onto the handrail for support. Please say that Snape did not know anything about them.

Draco uncrossed his arms and approached Harry, poking him in the chest accusingly. “That’s right. He said that if I wanted to experiment because I was curious there were much better candidates out there than you and when I told him that he had it wrong he said that he very much doubted it.   Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?”

Harry sat down heavily on the steps. Oh, god, Snape knew. It was the only explanation. It wasn’t that Harry really cared what Snape thought about it, but the greasy haired git was the kind of bastard who would let it slip to the whole school if he thought the occasion was right and Harry had only just told Ron that he might be gay, let alone that he’d messed around with Malfoy.

Draco sat down next to him. “I just can’t imagine where he got the idea.” He picked a piece of dust off Harry’s shirt and then, more as an afterthought, said, “You really are hopeless, Potter, I can’t imagine why you insist on wearing only white and black every day. I know for a fact you have more choices than that. Not that you could put them together.”

Harry laughed half-heartedly, “Right, maybe I need to lock you in my wardrobe so you can tell me what to wear.”

“I am not being locked in anyone’s wardrobe, no matter how badly they may need the advice.”

Suddenly Harry had an idea, “Maybe that’s why Snape thought you were gay.” Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously and Harry hurried to continue before he could be interrupted, “You’re always going on about clothes and color schemes and you do spend a lot of time preening in front of the mirror in the morning.”

“I am not preening, I happen to care about how I look, is all,” Draco turned bodily to face Harry and pointed a finger at him, “and I’ve been dragged out by my mother practically my entire life. You’ve met the woman; all she cares about are appearances. I spent the better part of ten years listening to her prattle on about them. Besides, you do dress horribly. You couldn’t match your trousers to your shirt if they could talk to you. For the love of Merlin, wear something other than white. You look fabulous is green.”

Harry blinked, “Um… okay, but that does make you sound gay. Just so you know.”

Draco looked to the side, as if playing the conversation over in his head and finally gave a dejected sigh, getting up and dusting off his pants. “Right. Fine. Look, can we just go somewhere and snog so I don’t have to think about Snape telling me I’m gay?”

Harry shrugged and followed Draco, fighting the urge to tell him that making out with another boy right after declaring you were not gay wasn’t the most effective way to convince someone of your point, but, he reminded himself, this was Draco and there really was no arguing with him once he got it into his head he wanted to do something. Besides, that something was snogging and Harry really liked snogging so he decided he’d wait till later to point it out, if he did at all.

 

____________________

 

 

Harry’s birthday was fast approaching and Draco was in a panic; a silent panic, but panic non-the-less. In the one week that he had been out shopping with his mother before being whisked away to Hogwarts, he hadn’t bought a birthday present for Harry; mostly because he had been too busy decidedly not thinking about kissing the other boy to think about buying him a present. Now, however, he regretted it, because tomorrow he would have to tell Harry he didn’t have a present for him.

With a frustrated sigh, he decided that Harry would have to wait, he had much more pressing issues to concern himself with at the moment; like porn.   To be specific, four issues of Strokes, one of the Wizarding World’s premiere gay magazines, which was currently lying in front of him with a letter on top of them, written in untidy scrawl: 

          _Still don’t know why’d you need this to play a_ _  
trick on Potter next year, but, whatever you say, Draco._

_Gregory_

He had no idea how he was going to pass his needing gay porn off as a trick he intended to play on Potter, but he’d think about that later.   Right now, he was looking at the cover of the first one and the muscular, tan bloke on it that was winking at him suggestively and stroking himself at a leisurely pace. Oh, bloody hell. Draco crossed his legs in an effort to hide his growing erection from himself. This wasn’t about his being gay; this was about him being curious about what two men could _do_ together.

He cast an anxious look at the door, before removing the letter and slowly flipping open the page to the middle… and then promptly closing it as what he saw was far more information than he thought he needed, despite the fact that his cock was fully erect now, throbbing at the image he had just seen. Fishing under his pillow, he came up with his wand and cast a locking spell at the door. It wouldn’t stop Snape from entering, but at least it would give him warning enough to hide the incriminating evidence.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he opened it again and looked. One man was on his knees, head down, arse in the air, while another man stood behind him, gripping his hips and shoving a cock in the raised arse. Oh, my. Draco looked closer, at the face of the man on his hands and knees and saw a concentrated look that wasn’t quite pain.

Hesitantly, he flipped to the next page and saw something that made his heart skip a beat. This was far more the kind of thing he had expected to see. In this one the two men were laying out beside a large bathing pool, one man on his back, the other bent between his knees, taking his cock into his mouth. As Draco watched, the cock disappeared into the mouth entirely, and the man lying down arched his back slightly, gripping his companion’s hair.

It seemed impossible, that had to be at least nine, maybe ten inches, where the hell was it going? He caught a glimpse of an uncharacteristic bulge in the kneeling man’s throat and for a second, he forgot to breathe. This was so wrong. Page by page, he flipped through the first magazine, his eyes practically out of their sockets in a very unMalfoyish way. For the time being, however, he couldn’t be bothered with being a Malfoy, he was simply a very horny teenage boy looking at porn. Some part of his brain chirped in ‘gay porn’ but he shut it up by flipping onto the last page.

With another glance at the door to make sure that it was still firmly shut, Draco began to undo his trousers. The moment he’d gotten the third button open his cock had sprung free, standing to full attention. Draco wrapped his hand around it, matching the speed of the man currently pumping into the spread out body bellow him. It really shouldn’t turn him on this much. He should be appalled, disgusting. His father would disown him and Harry… he shut his eyes and saw an image of him hovering over Harry, the other boy’s legs pushed back against his chest, his face tight with pleasure.   At that image, he came.

Draco fell back on the bed, lazily finishing himself off as he stared at the ceiling. It was entirely unreal. He’d just wanked off to gay porn. Maybe he _was_ gay. Maybe Snape was right. He lifted his hand to his face and looked at the cum coated fingers curiously. What would it really matter if he was? He’d still marry a pureblood and have pureblood babies, he’d just be thinking about blokes while he did it.

Slowly, he stuck one of the fingers in his mouth and scrunched his nose at the salty taste. Not bad, really.   Not to say that he’d be wanking off for the sole purpose of licking cum off his fingers, but… not bad. He sat up and put the first magazine aside. Harry wouldn’t be awake for another hour at least.

 

____________________

 

Harry was both excited and disappointed at the prospect of going to stay with his godfather for the rest of the holidays. It had nothing to do with Sirius, he loved Sirius and he loved spending time with Sirius, not that he ever got to do much of that, but the man was the closest thing Harry had to a father and he was one of only two links Harry had left to his parents. So, if it were just about going to see Sirius, he would have been ecstatic, but it wasn’t just about going to Sirius, it was about leaving Draco behind and therein lay the disappointment. Leaving Draco meant leaving heated snogs in dark corners and unused classrooms, it meant leaving behind all the wonderful fun he had grinding against the other boy until they both came in their pants and, most importantly, it mean leaving his freedom to be who he wanted to be and having to go back to being who his friends thought he was.

He loved Ron and Hermione, maybe more than he loved Sirius, but there was a part of him that he couldn’t let them know about, the part that was very much in lust with Draco Malfoy, a.k.a. ferret boy. He hadn’t really put much thought into it until recently, in fact, not until Draco had practically attacked him in his bedroom, just after breakfast in the kitchen with Hagrid and a distracted Dumbledore. Although, thinking about it might not have been the best term for what he was doing, because thinking wasn’t something he was very good at, especially when someone had a hand down his pants.

Draco looked up, his cheeks pink, “So, what did I get you for your birthday?”

Harry groaned as the hand around his penis tightened, “Merlin! You, uh… you got a… hm… a chess set. It’s got dragons and it’s… ugn… gold plated, I think.”

“Solid gold more like. My mother really is very generous with you, isn’t she?”

“Could we please not talk about your mother right now?”

Draco nodded and leaned down, smothering Harry with his mouth again and Harry put one hand on the back of Draco’s head, and clenched his other into the sheets. Draco moved his mouth to Harry’s ear, “I want to try something.”

“Try…” Harry stuttered as Draco bit his ear lightly, “try what?”

“Consider it a birthday present.”

“Last time you said that you wanked me off.”

Draco chuckled and his voice seemed deeper, huskier then before, “You’ll like this much better,” and before Harry could protest, Draco was pushing himself down the bed.

Harry blinked, looking down until Draco frowned at him. “Close your eyes, Potter.”

With an annoyed sigh, Harry closed his eyes and set his head on his pillow. Draco had pulled his cock free from his pants and Harry was trying to imagine how this was any different from any other time they had tossed off in bed together, when something warm and wet wrapped itself around the head of his penis. The sensation was mind numbing. He gripped the sheets harder and couldn’t help but open his eyes and look down. He’d expected to see Draco with his wand pointed at Harry, having learned some marvelous new spell. He did not expect to see Draco with his mouth wrapped around Harry’s cock, looking back up at him curiously. Well, curiously at first and then annoyed.

Draco’s mouth popped off his cock and Harry just managed not to whine, “I said don’t look, you twat.”

Harry dropped his head back down and closed his eyes, hoping that Draco would continue with what he was doing. Vaguely, he remembered Fred and George making cracks about ‘blow jobs’ the other year. From context, Harry had gathered it had something to do with sex and something to do mouths, but he hadn’t really thought very much on it, because he’d had the Triwizard Tournament to concern himself with. Now, however, there was no doubt in Harry’s mind what they had meant.

The mouth returned to what it had been doing and Harry moaned, fighting not to put his hand on the back of Draco’s head and push him down, make him take more of it. Draco, for his part, was finding it very curious that for an act he thought might be debasing, giving head was a very powerful feeling. The way Harry’s hips kept trying to buck up and the pathetic little noises that came from the back of his throat were absolutely intoxicating. This was better than hand jobs.

Taking more of it into his mouth, he pressed his tongue against the shaft and let the salty taste of sweat roll over his taste buds. In one of the magazines, he had found an article on giving head.   The first piece of advice had been to simply do what you would want done to you, but since Draco had no experience in what it felt like to have his cock sucked, he wasn’t really sure what he’d want. Other tips had included using his tongue and using his hand to make up for what he couldn’t take into his mouth.

Draco bobbed his head up and down slowly, taking in only as much as he felt comfortable and moving his hand to make up the difference. Harry was tugging the sheets desperately and Draco’s only warning was a stifled cry of, “Merlin, Draco…” before warm cum hit the back of his throat and flooded his mouth. He swallowed on instinct and then pulled away, wiping the back of his mouth with his sleeve and rolling the thick fluid over his tongue while Harry lay panting and staring at the ceiling. It tasted almost nothing like his own; it wasn’t as salty and, in fact, was almost sweet. How odd. Of course, that was good, because Draco preferred sweet if he had a choice.

Harry sat up, his arms shaking just slightly as he stared at Draco’s pensive face. He had just gotten a blowjob from Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy had just sucked his cock. It was absurd, it was preposterous, it was absolutely impossible, and it had, above all else, felt incredible. “So…”

Draco looked at him; seeming to be caught off guard that Harry was even there. Before Harry could say anything, the blonde frowned, scooting back a little as if nervous, “So, um…”

With a huff, Harry lay back down, but then sat up again when Draco didn’t follow, “Are you okay?

Draco blinked, unable to think of how he should respond to that, because, no, he wasn’t okay. He was gay. He could deny it when it just mutual masturbation, he could ignore that he liked the porn, he could even brush off the fact that he thought Harry was kind of cute, but a blow job was… well, it was a cock in his mouth and he was hard from it. He was still hard from it.

Harry looked down at his trousers and Draco fought the urge to cover himself, “Do you want me to… you know, return the favor?”

He did. He wanted very much to see Harry’s lips stretched around his cock, to feel the warmth of that mouth moving over him. He was gay. Oh, sweet Merlin, he was gay. He thought about what his mother would say, what his father would say and suddenly his erection made a hasty retreat in the face of fear. He was going to be killed. His father would string him up by his ankles and watch him slowly die, or curse him until he went insane and then kill him in some horrible, painful way.

Harry was still looking at him curiously and Draco quickly shook his head, “No.”

“Want me to finish you off at least?”

“No.”

For a moment, he thought he saw something in Harry’s face, something that was very like shame, maybe Harry was just as freaked out as he was, maybe… but that couldn’t be right.   What did the Golden Boy have to lose? Everyone loved him, it wouldn’t matter if he liked cock; he was still going to save the world from Voldemort and all that nonsense. They’d still kiss the ground me walked on. It was gone almost as soon as he noticed it, though and Harry shrugged, getting off the bed. “You do what you want, then, I’m going to go send a letter off with Hedwig.”

“Another one? You’ll be seeing the Weasel tomorrow.”

Harry frowned as he tucked in his shirt, “Stop calling him that and I’m not sending it to him, anyway.”

Draco wanted ask who, but got the impression that Harry wouldn’t have told him, so he brushed it off and lay back down, waiting somewhat impatiently as Harry pulled on his cloak and gathered the letter.

Harry didn’t look back as he left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him and ignoring the fact that he was just sure Draco was hastily unbuttoning his trousers at that very moment. Somehow, Harry couldn’t help but feel a little… well, used. It seemed irrational to him that he’d feel used in a situation where he had been given something and asked nothing in return, but there had been something in how dismissive Draco was, almost as if it could have been anyone he was doing that to and Harry had just been the first available person.

Of course, Harry wouldn’t put it past Draco for that to be the case. They were talking about the Slytherin git, here. This was the boy who could cuddle up to Harry during the summer, put a hand down his trousers and all that, yet as soon as school started, it was back to making fun without a care for Harry’s feelings. God, what was it with Draco bloody Malfoy and making him feel like he was two feet high with a brain the size of a peanut.

Speaking of which, Harry realized he hadn’t had peanuts in a very long time. Perhaps he could get Hermione could get her parents to send him some during the school year. With a huff, he marched a little quicker down the hall. If all Draco wanted from him was a spot of quick fun, then… well, then bugger Draco Malfoy, because Harry wasn’t going to be used. He’d find someone else, someone better for him. Maybe even a girl. He could always try with Cho, she was still attractive, slim and whip cord and the way she rode a broom was mesmerizing.

Harry smiled to himself as he opened the door to the owlery and sought out Hedwig. “Hello, girl.” Yes, that was exactly what he would do next year. He’d find a nice girl and give being heterosexual a try and if that didn’t work out, he’d find a nice boy, one that wasn’t quite so volatile.

Hedwig nipped at his hand and he gave her a treat while he tied to letter to Sirius, giving a detailed account of his latest vision from Voldemort, to her leg and watched her soar out the window and disappear into the dusk. It would be good to see his friends again, things would be much less confusing without Draco around. _Much_ less confusing.


	8. Summer 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted in 2004.

Harry had spent the entire year trying to ignore Malfoy. He’d had plenty of other things to think about without that stupid prat popping around every other corner, sneering at him, teasing him, or worse, kissing him, because as much as Harry may have tried to ignore Malfoy, Malfoy seemed determined not to ignore Harry

At first, it had been a letter every few days, which Harry had ignored, as was his plan. When the letters had begun coming every morning, he had made a show of either tearing them up or incinerating them. He may have fallen for all that nonsense the year before and even during the summer when it had almost seemed that Draco cared, at least a little, but not this time. He would not be made a fool of a second time.

Harry had been too busy dealing with Umbridge and lessons with Snape to really pay attention to Draco’s moods, so he really didn’t see it coming until it slammed into him. 'It' being a very temperamental Malfoy and ‘slammed into’ meaning he was yanked into a broom cupboard as he was walking down an empty corridor.

“Potter, you stupid twat, why aren’t you responding to my letters?”

“Because I’m burning them.”

“I noticed that, it’s not what I meant and you know that.”

“Oh, do tell.”

Draco had practically flown at him and they’d grappled for a while before it became more of an attempt to just hold the other one down, as apposed to actually hurting him and then, when Harry had finally managed to pin Malfoy (not a small feat either, considering he was still a good bit smaller), instead of pummelling him he had found himself kissing Draco and then there had been a lot of groping and as much as Harry would like to have said he hadn’t enjoyed it, he had. He _really_ had.

So, when Draco sent him the next letter, he had been hard pressed to incinerate it. He had to remind himself what it had felt like to be so utterly used by someone. Of course, it felt kind of odd saying he’d been used when Draco had been the one doing things to him and hadn’t asked for anything in return. For all their years knowing each other, Draco had always been a selfish, insecure little prick…

“Malfoy’s staring at you again.”

Harry turned sharply to Hermione, who nudged her head in the direction of the Slytherin table before going back to eating her breakfast. Harry looked over, a sense of dread building in his stomach.   Sure enough, Draco was openly staring at him from across the Great Hall, his eyes slit and his mouth set. It was a look that practically screamed ‘I dare you’.

The dread turned into defiance and, looking down at the letter, Harry had made up his mind. Holding the letter up just a little higher, he’d cast Incendio and watched it wither and disintegrate in his fingers. Draco’s eyes widened and his mouth opened in shock. After several seconds, however, he sneered and went back to eating, ignoring the odd looks he was getting from Crabbe and Goyle.

Harry had hoped that would be the end of it, that Draco would finally be so pissed at him that he’d leave him the bloody hell alone. Not that that explained the nearly painful tightness in his chest whenever he saw Draco in class.

For nearly two weeks there had been no word from the Slytherin and then Umbridge had formed her little patrolling party and put Draco at the head of it and Harry had known it was going to be utter hell before it even began. He'd even almost regretted burning the letter.  After over a hundred needless point deductions for offences that ranged from bumping into people in the hall, to not eating enough breakfast, Harry had snapped.

He’d sent Draco a letter, using one of the school owls, because he didn’t doubt for a second that Ron would recognise Hedwig. Draco had read it and looked at Harry across the hall, nodding once before shoving the note in his pocket and getting up, excusing himself to Pansy, who was trying to drape herself all over him. Harry had followed five minutes later, ignoring Hermione’s knowing wink. She was far too observant.

Draco had been waiting in the broom cupboard, his arms crossed over his chest. “Well?”

Harry poked a finger at Draco and the other boy dropped his defensive stance, taken off guard.   “You need to stop staring. Hermione’s noticed and I don’t fancy giving her any other ammunition.”

“Ammunition? What’s that? And I’ll have you know, I am very discreet.”

“So discreet the whole bloody school’s noticed by now.   If you don’t stop paying me attention, people are going to wonder.”

Draco smirked, “Wonder what? All I’m doing is glaring at you and deducting points like I usually would if I didn’t…”

He’d trailed off and Harry had completely forgotten that the pointless point-deductions were the reason they were there. “If you didn’t what?”

Draco started to bite his lip and stopped himself, “Doesn’t matter. It’s just to keep up appearances though and, besides, you really pissed me off, burning my letters like that.”

Harry refrained from saying that Draco had pissed him off by turning down his offer, because it seemed a bit silly with the way Draco was acting now, leaning against the wall, nervously rubbing his finger tips together and constantly shifting from one foot to the other. Why did Malfoy have to be just as complicated as Cho? Why couldn’t it be easier being gay?

“I burned your letters because you were being a right twat just before I left. Besides, I’m trying to be heterosexual for the year, thank you, and I can hardly do that when you keep dragging me places to snog.”

Draco chuckled, “You, heterosexual? You’ve got to be joking”

Harry raised his eyebrow, “Cauldron calling the pot black?”

Draco stopped chuckling and went a little pale. Something clicked in Harry’s brain and now that he saw it he wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before. Draco straightened, “Hardly. Look, I wanted to give you something so… if I send you a package tomorrow, can I be assured you won’t burn it?”

After several seconds' hesitation, Harry finally nodded his head and Draco stood a little straighter, more confident. “Good. Now, we’ve got twenty minutes before we have to be in class, care for a snog?”

For someone who was insecure in his homosexuality, Draco didn’t have any qualms about blatantly asking another boy to kiss him. Harry shook his head, “No, I’ve got to get back to breakfast before Hermione starts to take notes on the amount of time I’m missing.”

“The mu… I mean, Granger’s keeping tabs on you?”

“Not yet, but if I start going missing she will. She’s just concerned about me.”

“She’s not the only one.” Draco’s face went bright red as he realized what he’d said. Harry was too stunned by the inadvertent revelation to say anything until Draco had already turned to the door. “See you around.”

The next morning when the brown owl swooped down in front of him and he took the package from it without so much as a scowl, Hermione had been right beside him with a smirk.   “Lover’s tiff over then?”

He’d turned sharply to his other side, but Ron had been too busy talking to Dean to pay attention to what she’d said. Deciding to ignore Hermione for the moment, he looked the flat, rectangular package over, examining it carefully to try and determine what it was.

Finally giving up, he’d undone the strings and opened it.   Hermione had leaned over him and he reached in and pulled out what felt like a magazine, then she had sprayed Pumkpin juice all over it, as well as Harry, herself, and the two people sitting across from them. Harry had absolutely frozen and if she hadn’t grabbed the package and shoved the contents back in the envelope, he would have stayed like that for some time. Gay porn. Draco had sent him gay porn, at breakfast, and he hadn’t even warned him.

Hermione was still coughing, holding the soggy letter in her hand.   Harry looked at her and she shrugged at his outraged face, “Tiff back on, then, is it?”

It had taken days for Ron to stop asking what had been in the package, and he probably wouldn’t have if Hermione hadn’t dragged him off by his ear and lecture him on badgering people needlessly. Not that she was one to talk, when every five minutes they had alone she was asking Harry whether he’d talked to Malfoy yet about his little present. Problem was, Harry had, but he couldn’t tell Hermione that because he wasn’t sure how to explain that he had gone into the now eerily familiar cupboard to shout at Malfoy and ten minutes later ended up leaning against a shelf with his trousers around his ankles and Malfoy on his knees in front of him.

After the Cho incident, when Harry had finally realized that girls just didn’t do it for him - not at all, not even in the slightest – he’d thought it might be best to come clean with Ron. Besides, he couldn’t stand any more disapproving looks from Hermione. He’d been lying awake on his bed, looking at the porn magazine that Draco had given him and every time he turned the page, he saw the etched words in his hand ‘I will not tell lies’.

It was one thing to be called a liar when he wasn’t, it was another to be one. With a deep breath, he’d gotten out of his bed and snuck into Ron’s, pulling the curtains open.   “Ron, wake up.”

Ron had mumbled something and Harry cast a silencing charm around the bed before hitting his friend with a water charm and watching him splutter awake in his now wet bed. “Bloody hell, Harry!”

Harry had hushed him. He needed to get this out before he lost his nerve. “Shut it Ron, I’ve something I’ve got to tell you.”

“Is it another vision? Who is it this time? Bill?  My mum?”

“No, not like that.” Harry rang his hands. Now that he thought about it, it did feel a bit silly having woken someone up in the middle of the night for something this insignificant. “Look, Ron… I’m gay.”

Ron stared at him blankly, “That’s it? You’re gay?”

“Yes.” Harry looked down at his hand. “No. I mean… I’m gay and… that is to say I…” Bloody hell, he couldn’t say it. Every time he started he could just see Ron’s outraged face and he didn’t think he could handle his best friend hating him on top of everything else that was going on.

“Is this about Malfoy?” Harry stopped breathing. “Because Hermione may think I’m an idiot, but I’d expect you to know better. You are my best friend, I’d be a bit daft not to notice you two staring at each other all the time.”

Harry managed to pull in breath, “What?! But, last year, you said…”

“I was having you on,” Ron interrupted. “If you can’t be arsed to tell your best friend when you’ve decided to cavort with the enemy you deserve it.”

Harry looked down to hide his blush and his gaze landed on the words on his hand again. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Naw, I would have been upset anyway. I was in denial for a good, long time. Especially right after the Tournament, when Malfoy… well, you know. It was pretty obvious he was panicked about it and that was kind of, I dunno, awkward, thinking that maybe he really did like you and wasn’t just trying to get close to you for information or to turn you over to his father. Besides, he’d have done it before then, wouldn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded, the blush still lightly tinting his cheeks. “Thanks, Ron.”

Ron shrugged, “No problem, mate, but next time just tell me instead of hiding gay porn mags behind my back?”

With an anguished cry, he buried his head in the blankets, but, embarrassed or not, he was glad Ron knew and he promised himself that he’d never keep anything from his friends again, especially not Ron.

They’d spent the rest of the night talking and Harry had gotten detention for falling asleep in Potion’s the next morning, but it was worth it. Ron didn’t like that he was ‘seeing’ Malfoy (because he refused to call it dating, as dating implied far more than secret snog sessions in broom cupboards), he didn’t think that Malfoy was good for Harry, he didn’t like the way Malfoy was always teasing him and he didn’t believe that it was just for show. In the end, however, he had relented that it was Harry’s choice and he would stand by him no matter what, even if that meant knowing his best friend and his worst enemy were sneaking off to swap tongue every few days.

When Dumbledore’s Army had gone well, Harry had relented in telling Draco, because it was either that or listen to him whine on and on about how Harry didn’t trust him, even if the truth was that Harry wasn’t sure yet that he did. Where Harry drew the line, however, was in allowing Draco to be part of it. If that were going to work, they would have to come out, at least as friends, and Harry didn’t want to do that.

“But, Harry…

“No, absolutely not. Right now you’re relatively safe. You aren’t old enough for Voldemort to bother with and you aren’t tied to one of his enemies. I’m… you aren’t going to risk it. It’s too dangerous to even be my friend right now…”

“Harry…”

“…and what about you’re father?”

Draco had paled and the conversation was over. After that, Draco had not brought the subject up again, though he did occasionally make snide remarks about how the meetings were going. It had seemed a pleasant, if tense sort of compromise, but Harry would take what he could get, especially with the visions getting worse.

The visions, of course, were something else entirely and something that Harry wished he didn’t have to deal with. He’d take Umbridge every year if he could just get rid of the stupid visions, especially when he’d had one in front of Draco and had ended up on the floor on the broom cupboard, rocking back and forth, intermittently crying and laughing.

Then, there had been the disastrous events at the end of the year.   Harry had been caught by Umbridge and Draco had stood there, trying to look pleased by it, though Harry noted that when no one was looking, the blond tensed and his eyes hardened, focusing only on Harry. Draco had done what he had to, though, and Harry was grateful for that. He’d played the part of the prat and he hadn’t given himself away; he hadn’t done anything stupid that would put his life in danger. Not at first, anyway.

After Harry and Hermione had managed to lure Umbridge out of the room, Ron had been struck dumb by Draco looking him dead in the eye and nodding. Nothing showy, just a terse little go-with-it kind of nod, then he’d made a show of grabbing Ginny by the hair and leaned over her, whispering something in her ear with a lewd grin. Ron had watched in shock as Ginny got a foot under her and kicked him in the stomach. He’d dropped their wands and she’d picked up hers, using it to quickly untie Ron before shoving the others in the right direction and casting curses at the remaining Slytherins while they got untied and followed her out the door.

They’d made it out the front door when Draco had come up behind them, panting and holding his stomach. He’d glared at Ginny, “You didn’t have to kick me so hard.”

She shrugged, “You didn’t have to pull my hair.”

Ron had set out for the forest and Neville and Luna had exchanged looks with Ginny when Draco followed without saying anything else. Apparently, Ron had decided that if Harry wanted anyone else to know about his illicit affair with Draco Malfoy, he could bloody well tell them himself.

Harry had been utterly shocked when he ran into his friends, Draco among them. It had taken him nearly a full minute to get any words out, “What are you doing here?!”

Ginny, Luna and Neville had backed up, expected a duel or perhaps even a fistfight when Harry had started to march forward at the other boy. Draco, however, wasn’t backing down.  “Saving your arse.” A moment later, Draco thrust Harry’s wand into his hand and Harry had stared at it blankly before the anger had set back in.

“You idiot! What were you thinking? Why couldn’t you have just slipped it to one of them instead of exposing yourself?”

“I did not expose myself, Harry, I am a Slytherin, I know what I am doing. The others haven’t a clue that I still had your wand, let alone that I was bringing it to you.”

Harry bit his lip and the anger tempered itself with the pain and realization that not everything was lost. “Fine, but go back now, say you couldn’t find us, say anything, just…”

“No.” Draco hadn’t even bothered to look cowed at the glare Harry sent him. “I’m coming with you. You’ll not go gallivanting off to the Ministry without any kind of protection.”

As quickly as the anger had abated, it was back. “You’re going back to the castle and you are going to try and find Snape and make sure he’s getting the rest of the Order together. We’ll need backup and I don’t trust him.”

‘I do trust you’ hung unspoken between them and the next thing Harry knew he was being thoroughly snogged by Draco, hands holding his head in place and a tongue pressing urgently into his mouth. When Draco pulled away, Harry was absolutely breathless. “You’ll watch out then.” He’d looked up at Ron and Hermione, who were standing awkwardly next to their shell-shocked friends. “If anything happens to him, you answer to me.”

He’d turned around and left, practically running to the castle while Harry had turned to face his ‘army,’ face flushed and mouth slightly swollen. “Okay, then, to the Ministry.”

Ginny had opened her mouth to say something, but couldn’t manage to get out more than a squeak before Harry, Hermione and Ron all started to hash out how they were going to get there, entirely ignoring the other three until they joined in. No one mentioned it after that, probably because there was too much going on without taking the time to talk about Harry’s quite obvious relations with Draco Malfoy and then afterwards… Well, afterward Harry hadn’t wanted to talk about anything to anyone.

He was beginning to think that it wasn’t safe for anyone to be around him. He couldn’t help it with Ron and Hermione, they’d always been his friends and even if he ditched them now, they would still be in danger, the same was true for Neville, Luna and Ginny, the Death Eaters had seen them at the Ministry, but he could help it with Draco, especially now that Lucius was in Azkaban. Draco wouldn’t have the pressure of his father telling him what to do. Maybe if he could lie low and stay off of everyone’s radar, he’d be safe, but that wasn’t going to happen if people found out that he and Harry were even remotely friendly.

Harry rolled over and closed his eyes. Of course, there was always the possibility that Draco would hate Harry for putting his father in Azkaban, but for some reason that thought alone was too painful for Harry to even think about.

 

____________________

 

Draco was furious. Potter was avoiding him, making sure he was surrounded by the Weasel and Granger at all times, dashing out of class the second they were dismissed and not showing up until just before class started. He’d stopped showing up for most meals and when he did, eating a deplorably little amount before leaving. As for post, well, Potter was taking the letters he got, but he wasn’t opening them at the table. He’d shove them in his bag and Draco got the feeling he never looked them again.

It was maddening. All Draco wanted to do was make sure he was okay and then shout at him for doing something so idiotic that it nearly got him killed _again_ , but no, he couldn’t, because Potter couldn’t be arsed to open his owl post or be alone for any length of time.  He kicked at the leg of his table, ignoring the odd looks that Pansy kept throwing at him. Professor Vector, looked up, but didn’t say anything and Draco sneered as soon as she’d looked away. Stupid Arithmancy.   The year was practically over anyway, he should be planning on ways to get Potter alone, not sitting in a class when he wasn’t learning anything.

“Malfoy.” It was barely a whisper and for a second he thought he'd imagined it, but then a hand tapped his shoulder.  He started, turning around to find a piece of parchment shoved at his face. He looked past it and his sneer deepened. Why the bloody hell was Granger passing him notes?

He took it, though, because he didn’t want to take the chance that anyone would see her even trying, and turned around, opening it. For a moment he was looking at only blank paper, then writing began to appear in a slow scrawl, _‘You’re both idiots.’_

He looked back at her incredulously, but she was staring at a piece of parchment on her desk, writing. Looking back at the note, he saw more writing appear. _‘If you don’t stop pouting at each other, people are going to figure it out.’_

Draco felt his whole body stiffen. The ink sank into the paper and disappeared. He took up his quill and scratched a note back, _‘Malfoy’s do not pout.’_

_‘Then you’re doing the most impressive imitation of a recalcitrant three-year-old that I’ve ever seen.’_

Stupid Granger, and why was he bothering with this nonsense anyway?   She was a mudblood, he didn’t talk to mudbloods. He picked up his quill to tell her just that, when he heard Harry’s voice in his head, “So help me, Draco, if you finish that I will hang you upside down from the tower again.”   Oh, fine. _‘Is there a point to this, Granger?’_

He heard a huff of laughter behind him and nearly chucked the paper back at her, but she was writing again. _‘Yes, actually, I was wondering why you don’t just talk to him instead of sending him owls and staring all day. You could be more discrete by holding an I’m-in-love-with-Harry-Potter banner over your head.’_

Then, the strangest thing happened. He laughed. In the middle of class and at apparently nothing, which earned him another odd look for Pansy, whom he rolled his eyes at and leaned further over the parchment to keep her from seeing it. It was just that the idea of him holding any banner up, let alone one that announced his feelings for Harry had… not been that atrocious an idea.

Worse yet, he hadn’t felt the least defensive at the idea that she thought he was in love with Harry; embarrassed, but not defensive, because the more he thought about it, the more he thought it could be true. He thought about him every day, he dreamed about him at night, he worried if he was okay, and when Pansy had been blithering on mindlessly about all the rumors she had heard concerning the Department of Mysteries fiasco, he had nearly keeled over.   The mere idea that Voldemort had possessed his Harry was enough to make him physically ill with distress. He couldn’t even bring himself to be appropriately outraged that his father was in Azkaban, because if it was between his father and Harry…

Giving up, he sighed and wrote back, _‘He’s never alone.’_

_‘He’s always alone; you’re just not looking in the right places.’_

Draco turned around, exasperated. Why did women always have to talk in riddles? Why couldn’t they just be straightforward? “Where? When?”

She looked up, startled and her face colored. “Down by the lake, during meals.”

He nodded and turned back to his desk, folding the parchment neatly and putting it in his Arithmancy book. Before dinner he’d go down to the lake.

 

___________________

 

Granger had been right. Potter was sitting at the lake, staring intently at the water as it rippled orange and purple with the setting sun. Draco walked up behind him, but Harry didn’t seem to notice. Without saying anything, he sat down, but Harry still didn’t look at him. After several seconds of staring, Draco pulled a face and was surprised when Harry reached one arm out and shoved him over.

“I’m not blind, Draco, I’m ignoring you.”

Draco frowned and sat back up. Well, at least he knew Harry hadn’t gone catatonic, but why would he ignore him? However, over the years he had learned that asking Harry a direct question was very rarely the way to go about getting an answer. He’d have to blind-side him with it. “You haven’t been eating.”

“I’m not hungry.”

A low rumble from Harry’s stomach said otherwise, but Draco didn’t point that out. “You’re getting too thin. I’ll be able to toss you over my head before long.”

“You’re not my mum, Malfoy.”

Draco pretended not to hear. “Of course, being able to toss you around might not be so bad. Maybe I could…”

“Would you lay off, Malfoy!” Harry stood up and started to march back to castle, but Draco scrambled to his feet and caught his arm before he was more than a few steps gone. “Let me go!”

Draco pulled Harry around to look at him.  “Not until you tell me what’s going on. You’re like a bloody ghost, you don’t eat anything, you don’t talk to anyone, you won’t answer any of my letters…”

“What do you care?!” Harry pulled away sharply, but didn’t storm off. “You should just leave me alone before you get hurt, too.”

“Wha…” but he didn’t finish, because suddenly, he knew very well what this was about. It was about Harry’s stupid Gryffindor protectiveness. Well, he’d be damned if he let Harry push him away just because of some ill-gotten sense of responsibility. “Don’t you dare do this, Potter.”

Harry straightened up, “I’ll do what I want, _Malfoy_. It may be too late for the others, but it’s not too late for you. Stay away from me and you might stand half a chance of surviving this war.”

Draco faltered for a second, which was enough time for Harry to turn back around and start walking again. He caught the back of Harry’s robes and the other boy stopped, though he didn’t turn around. “I…”   _I don’t want to survive if it means I can’t even talk to you._ Draco closed his eyes in frustration. He couldn’t say it. He just couldn’t. It was admitting too much and he was afraid, terrified that Harry didn’t feel the same way. “I don’t stand a chance either way.”

Harry looked at him then, “But your father…”

“Is in Azkaban, yes. It’s a bit of a sore point for me, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring it up again. You really think it matters whether my father is there or not? There are things that are expected of me, things I can’t get away from. I want…” ‘ _I want to run away with you, to you, I don’t care as long as I’m not left to face everything on my own,’_ but he couldn’t say that, either. “I’m a Malfoy, Harry, with my father gone the Dark Lord will be at my doorstep the moment I get home.”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly and he started to step forward, but stopped himself. “Then… then don’t go home.”

Draco shook his head. “I can’t leave my mother there to face him alone.”

The silence stretched between them for eternity, a few second, and was finally broken by Harry, who stomped his foot into the ground, in a childish display of frustration.   “For gods sake, Draco, then why did you even bother to talk to me?! You’re going to go home and do what Voldemort tells you to and I’m going to stay here and prepare to kill him and anything that stands between that goal and me. We’re on different sides of the bloody line and you can’t just cross it whenever you want.”

“I don’t want any of it, Harry, I just want…” _you_.

Harry shook his head, but didn’t turn around and Draco looked back around the grounds, making sure that everyone was still inside eating. When he was satisfied that no one was watching, he stepped up and grabbed Harry’s face, kissing him soundly on the lips for only a second before pulling back.

“You’re such an idiot, Harry.” He opened his eyes and saw tracks of tears running down Harry’s face.  “Oh, god, I didn’t mean it, I was only just… I mean…”

Harry leaned forward and put his head on Draco’s shoulder.  “Shut up, Malfoy.”

Why was it that this had to feel so right? He cast an obscuring charm around them, hoping that it would deter anyone from looking too closely and put his arms around Harry, not really sure what he was doing, or why he was doing it.

He could safely say that the most terrifying moment of his life was when he’d been sitting alone in Snape’s quarters, waiting for news that Harry was okay and Snape had stumbled in through the floo, slightly more pale than was usual and said that the Ministry had been a trap. If it hadn’t been for Snape physically restraining him, he would have left right then. To hell with whether he could make it in time to do any good, to hell with the fact that what he was doing verged on Gryffindor stupidity, it was Harry walking into that trap and he couldn’t just sit there.

Snape had stopped him, however, looked him in the eyes and told him that it was taken care of. It was by no means an admission to anything, but somehow, Draco knew what it meant. Maybe it was Legilimency. He’d heard from his father that Snape was good at it, so maybe Snape was sending him thoughts, but he just knew that Snape was a spy for Dumbledore and that there were others going to help his Harry. It wasn’t as good as if he’d gone himself, but it was better than nothing, so he had sat back down and was waiting again, still feeling the soft wetness of Harry’s lips on his.

It had been utterly terrifying to simply not know and even worse when, much later that night, Snape had informed him that Harry was alive, but nothing more. Not even a simple ‘he’s going to be okay,’ just ‘he’s alive’ and that was it. He wasn’t even permitted to go to the hospital wing to see him, because he wasn’t there, he was in Dumbledore’s office.

When he’d gotten back to the Slytherin dorms, he’d brushed Pansy off and ignored Crabbe and Goyle completely, going instead to his bed and lying there, trying not to think about everything that could have gone wrong. It felt like there was a giant knot in his stomach every time he imagined that Harry was hurt in some way. He hadn’t been able to sleep until the next morning when he’d gone to see Madame Pomfrey on a fake claim that he had an upset stomach. Harry was there, surrounded by his friends, who appeared to be in worse shape than he was.

The Weasley girl had noticed him and glared at him before turning away. She’d had a crush on Harry, Draco remembered, but he’d thought that was over. She hadn’t shown any interest in him in over a year, not that he knew of, but that didn’t matter because even though she wasn’t _with_ Harry, she was with him. She could sit next to him and talk to him and publicly be with him and no one would think twice about it.

For the first time in his life, Draco realized he was jealous.   Someone had something he couldn’t have.   Stupid bint. But before he could do anything about it, Madame Pomfrey ushered him out of the room. Well, that was just fine, because she was a stupid bint too, and he’d show them all. Harry was his and his alone, even if it was only when no one was looking. He’d have to do something drastic, though, like kissing Harry in front of her again - no, kissing him in front of the whole bloody school, his father’s wrath be damned.

He’d been in the middle of planning his great triumph over all the stupid bints in the school that thought they could get their hands on his Harry, when Pansy had rushed over to him, telling him how sorry she was and why didn’t he tell her. Blaise had seen his confusion and handed him a copy of the Prophet and the floor had dropped out from under him.

His father had been arrested in connection with an unfortunate incident at the Ministry of Magic. The same man that had literally beaten lessons into Draco about discretion and respect for the family name had been arrested by the Aurors and publicly outed as a Death Eater for the _second_   time.

Why was it that Draco was caned for failing to make nice with Harry, but his father allowed himself to be publicly caught trying to kill him? Where were all the lessons about a Malfoy doing what was best to live up to the prestige of his ancestors, instead of being selfish and doing something stupid that could bring shame to the family name? A Malfoy bows to no one. A Malfoy is his own law. A Malfoy does not allow someone to tell him what to do, he does what he thinks is best. What happened to all of those rules when his father had obeyed the Dark Lord and gone on an attack in the middle of the Ministry of Magic? Surely being publicly humiliated was not in their best interest.

He’d been so caught off guard by the entire thing that he’d forgotten about his plan to show Weasley who owned Harry. It was probably for the best anyway, because things were going to be more complicated now. He tightened his grip on the boy leaning against him. Harry wasn’t making any noise beyond a few shuddered breaths, but Draco could feel the dampness soaking through his shirt.

He’d deal with the Weasley later.

 

___________________

 

Severus Snape was not the kind of man who spent a great of time worrying about people. Occasionally he concerned himself with Draco, but never so much so that he could not concentrate on his work, so why, in the name of everything that he held dear (which wasn’t much), was he concerned for Potter?

Discreetly, he glanced over at the sofa, where the bane of his existence sat, staring blankly at an open book.   This was Harry Potter, the child who had been a thorn in the bottom of his foot for the past seven years; the same nosy little child who had, just this year, taken the liberty of viewing his most private thoughts without his consent; the same reckless boy who consistently got himself into danger and required rescuing of one sort or another.

Snape sighed, pinching his nose between his fingers. This was also the child who had been staring at the same page of a book for over an hour without so much as moving his eyes; the same child who’d had nightmares since he was eight years old about demons that Snape could, unfortunately, sympathise with; the same child who consistently tried to please everyone around him, even Snape, no matter how much they disliked him.

James Potter had made Snape’s life a living hell. The tricks they played on him always got back to his father and while his father may only rarely have hit him, he did often turn his temper on Snape’s mother. The number of times that Snape had had nightmares about waking up late at night to find his mother dead and his father standing over her body… it still chilled him to even think about it.   He had tried very diligently not to associate his childhood with Harry Potter’s. The boy was famous, he was loved by everyone around him, pampered by Dumbledore and McGonagall and every other bloody professor in the school. A few years of abuse didn’t begin to equate with an entire childhood and yet…

He turned in his chair and looked at the boy’s pale profile. When was the last time the boy had eaten? He didn’t remember Potter actually taking a bite of anything at dinner and he hadn’t seen him at lunch or breakfast.

“Potter!”

The boy started and looked over, “Yes, sir?”

“Go to kitchens and eat something.”

Potter gaped for a moment, “But… sir, I’m not hungry and it’s only half an hour till I’m supposed to be in bed…”

Snape glared and Potter stammered to a halt. “I am well aware of what time it is and I did not ask if you were hungry, I told you to go to the kitchens and eat something. I will not have you starving yourself on my watch.”

Potter’s face flushed red with embarrassment and anger. “I’m not starving myself.”

Snape turned back to his books, pretending to be distracted.   “When was the last time you ate?”   There was silence. “As I thought. Do as I say, or I will be forced to ground you.”

The book slammed onto the coffee table and the couch rustled with movement. “Doesn’t matter, I don’t want to leave my room, anyway.”

Snape turned around just in time to see Potter’s door slam shut behind him. The impudent little brat! Well, Snape would be damned before he sat there and took that. Standing up, he stormed over to the boy’s room and threw open the door. Potter was sitting on the bed, looking at his knees with the same vacant expression he had been wearing the past two weeks. When he saw Snape standing in his doorway, however, the vacancy quickly gave way to rage. “Get out!”

“If you wish to pine over your _dog_ father, you may do so in other parts of the castle, but I will not watch you waste away in my quarters.”

Potter stood up, his hands clenched defensively at his sides.   “I’ll do whatever I bloody well want, you wanker. It’s my room and my quarters too and I don’t bloody well care what you think! You can just…”

Without even knowing what he was doing, Snape lunged forward and grabbed Potter, throwing him over his shoulder.

“Put me down!”

He ignored the shouted protests and the slightly painful beating of fists on his back as he walked across the room and into the bathroom.

“I hate you, you fucking…”

Snape bent down, depositing Potter onto the floor of the tub and flicked his wand towards the shower head. Icy cold water shot down on top of the boy as Potter scrambled to get out of the shower, only to find his way blocked by Snape. “Let me out, it’s cold!”

“That is the point.” Snape grabbed him by his upper arms and forced him to remain in the stream.

After several seconds, Harry stilled and glared at Snape defiantly. “You hated him.   You’re probably bloody thrilled that he’s gone. That’s why you’re so pissed to see me upset - I’m ruining your bloody good mood!”

“Potter, I do not have good moods. I do not revel in death, even when the loss is as inconsequential as Black.   He was a member of the Order of the Phoenix and with him gone, we have lost our headquarters for the time being.” Harry flew at him again and Snape pushed him back.

“I hate you! I wish you had died instead of him!”

Snape resisted the urge to slap the boy, one of his greater accomplishments. “No doubt that would have been the better outcome Potter, but as it is, I am here and he is not.”

With a wordless cry that sounded more like a sob that a scream, Harry sat down and buried his head in his knees. Snape stared down at him in confusion. He hadn’t been sure what his intentions were at the start of this and in truth, he still didn’t know now, but whatever they were, he had started this and he might as well finish it.

Kneeling down, he lifted Potter’s chin and met the angry glare behind tear bright eyes. “You can stay in here until you’re ready to eat something.”

“Why do you care?”

Snape stopped. Was he… caring? Was that what all this was? It couldn’t be, because Snape hadn’t cared about anyone in a very long time and he’d had no intentions of starting ever again. “I don’t.”

This time, caught off guard, Potter succeeded in his escape attempt. He threw out his hands and shoved Snape back, launching himself out of the bathroom and sliding over the slick floor with his wet feet as he ran to his room and slammed the door shut. Snape heard the sounds of spells being cast, no doubt wards against Snape entering. Did the little brat think Snape couldn’t break past the wards of a half-trained wizard? Getting to his feet, Snape looked down at his wet robes and sighed heavily. He’d have to change and then he would have a talk with Dumbledore. The last thing he needed was to get blamed for the boy starving himself.

 

____________________

 

“Harry.”

“Is Snape still out there?”

“Professor Snape is here, yes.”

“Then I’m not opening the door.”

Snape crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, scowling. “This is ridiculous. I don’t see why we don’t just go in there and…”

Dumbledore sighed, “Severus, if you do not feel like helping the situation, then perhaps you should leave.”

“It’s my quarters and I will not be kicked out simply because the impertinent brat refuses to act his age.”

“Severus!”

The door flew open and Harry ignored Dumbledore’s presence altogether, instead looking past him at Snape. “I’ll act my age when he does, the great greasy git!”

“Harry!”

“No, if he can hold some inexplicable grudge against Sirius for over ten years…”

Snape pushed off the wall, “My grudge against that flea-ridden mongrel is hardly inexplicable. He nearly killed me in an immature bought of recklessness…”

“When you were what? Fifteen? That’s hardly…”

“Boys!”

Harry whirled around, fully intent on telling Dumbledore to mind his own bloody business, but stopped when he saw the look of anger that marred the headmaster’s usually pensive face. For a moment, Harry was afraid that the anger was directed at him and he felt the blood drain from his face, but Dumbledore wasn’t looking at him.

“Severus, up until now I have trusted you to the utmost where Harry is concerned. However, I am beginning to believe that trust may have been misplaced.”

Snape’s scowl deepened, but Harry could see the paler of his skin tinge just the slightest shade of red.

“The boy is grieving, Severus. It pleases me that you are concerned for him, but now is not the time to pick on petty grudges, especially ones that he was never involved in.”

The tint of red in the Potion Masters face had spread down his neck and up to his ears and Harry felt very suddenly torn between guilt and indignation – guilt, because he hadn’t meant to create this much of a problem for Snape, he just hadn’t felt like eating; and indignation, because he couldn’t fathom why he felt guilty, it was Snape’s fault for ordering him around and then shoving him in a cold shower when he didn’t do what he was told.

Snape carefully avoided Harry’s gaze, “His grieving is misplaced. The entire staff of this school bends over backwards for him and has done so since he was eight-years-old, he hardly knew Sirius Black.”

The only thing that stopped Harry from rushing Snape was the hand still on his shoulder, lightly squeezing his tense muscles. However, not even the hand could stop Harry from speaking. “I love everyone here, but they aren’t family. Sirius was the closest thing I’ve ever had to that.”

“Black was your godfather and related to you in no way.”

“He was all I had left, you…”

“Harry,” Dumbledore’s quite voice cut through his anger and Harry felt his lip trembling. Oh god, he was _not_ going to cry in front of Snape. Turning around, he stormed out of the room. Half way down the hall, he realized that Dumbledore had not followed him and he sat against the wall, looking at his knees while he tried to collect himself.

He knew that his being sad wasn’t helping anything.   There were more important things to worry about. There was Voldemort right outside of Hogwarts somewhere, terrorizing the wizarding world and Harry was on the inside, feeling sorry for himself. Knowing didn’t make it any easier, though, especially not with Snape breathing down his neck and sticking his abnormally large nose into Harry’s business. The man had spent countless years ignoring Harry during the summer, why couldn’t he just do it this year, as well?

Footsteps sounded down the hall and he looked up to see Dumbledore walking towards him, concern wrinkling his brow. They hadn’t talked really since Harry had trashed his office and he suddenly felt very awkward. What was he going to say? Sorry felt a bit understated. He had no clue as to how many priceless objects he’d broken in his peak of rage, but he didn’t doubt it was more than one and while he no longer feared that Dumbledore would lash out at him as his Uncle had, that somehow made it worse.

“Sir?” Dumbledore looked down at him, and Harry found himself looking sheepishly at the ground again. “I… um, I’m sorry… about your office, I mean. I just…”

“Those were mere objects. My concerns lie with your well being, whether physical or emotional. Besides,” the familiar twinkle lit the headmaster’s eyes, “I am not a wizard for nothing, Harry. You broke nothing that could not be fixed with a little time and effort.”

Harry felt himself smile against his will. He didn’t really think he deserved to smile. Of all the times he had ever been punished, he would have really and truly deserved it this time. Lifting himself off the ground, he dusted off the back of his pants and followed Dumbledore down the hall.

 

____________________

 

“But, Mother, I want to go.”

“I forbid it.”

“Father would have let me. He understands, he…”

“Your father is in Azkaban, Draco, and I am the head of this household until he returns. You will do as I say and you will respect my decision on the matter.”

“How can I possible respect your decision when I don’t even respect you.” Draco didn’t even see the hand fly, just felt the palm of his mother’s hand strike across his face with a sickening crack.

“Go to your room and do not come out until I personally retrieve you.”

He turned around and stormed out, seething. How dare she treat him like some common, ill-bred half blood! It was unthinkable. Slamming his door, he threw himself on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He only wanted to go to Hogwarts, he only wanted to see Harry before…

Lifting up his arm, he looked at the inside of it, bare and smooth. It wouldn’t be for long. Voldemort had already sent word to his mother that he was to be initiated in his father’s place. ‘Before the summer was out’, that was all the letter had said about when.

His mother had always been so cold to him, but after that letter it was all he could do to get any privacy. She insisted that they eat together, take walks in the gardens together. She wanted to talk to him. It was infuriating. The woman had been a non-entity his entire life and now that he was fifteen she was suddenly his mother.

He reached up and put his fingers on his cheek. It hadn’t even been a very hard slap, but the memory of her hand on his face left unfamiliar and unwanted tingles flitting across his face. She’d hardly ever paid him attention, let alone slapped him. Was this how Harry had felt when Snape slapped him?

Turning onto his side, Draco looked at the wall and chewed on the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t going to just sit here and do nothing for the next two months. He had to see Harry at least once before term started, but his mother was unlikely to relent unless she had no other option.

He sat up as an idea struck him. Yes, that was it, give her no other option, make it so that she couldn’t refuse the request to send him to Hogwarts. A soft knock at his door jarred him from his thoughts and he looked up to see his mother step in.

“Draco?”

Stubbornly, he turned so that his back was to her and didn’t answer. She sighed heavily, but did not retreat. “I am sorry that I struck you, but I…” she faltered and Draco found himself wanting to listen, despite himself. “I know that I have been… otherwise occupied throughout the years, but with Lucius gone and now it is my duty to protect you. You are my son.”

“You’ve never acted like it.” He bit his lip hard. He hadn’t actually meant to say that.

His mother took another deep breath, “I have always had your best interest in mind, I’ve just never been good at expressing it. My abilities with children are rather limited. I don’t have a great deal of patience, nor can I abide loud noises, but I have always seen that you had what you needed…”

“Except a mother.” He hadn’t meant to say that either, but it was true. Sure, he’d always worn the latest fashions, ate the best foods, had the most superior tutors, and anything he asked for was his, but the only time she had ever wanted to do anything with him was when she had shopping to do and didn’t want to go alone. If his father had agreed to go with her, she probably would have left Draco home with a house elf to watch over him.

She took a step towards him, but apparently thought better of it and stepped back again. “I know why you want to go to Hogwarts.”

Draco’s spine stiffened slightly. How could she know? How could she possibly?

“You want to continue with your father’s plan of getting into Potter’s good graces. However, the boy is carefully guarded now and I will not have you putting yourself into even further danger. If the Dark Lord asks, at least at this moment you can say that you aren’t his friend. If that changes he may ask you to risk your freedom or even your life. I won’t let that happen if I can help it.”

With a sigh, Draco finally turned around, facing his mother fully and raised his chin. “Well, then, you’re too late, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“He’s more than my friend, mother, and I will go to Hogwarts this summer, with or without your approval.”

Before she could say anything, he stormed past her, leaving her gaping in the doorway to his room while he all but ran to his father’s study. In truth, he couldn’t go anywhere unless she said he could. If she willed it, the manor would refuse to let him out the front door, she could close the floo line, she could instruct the owls not to deliver anything that didn’t come directly from her.

Shutting and locking the door behind him, he looked around the study, taking large, deep breaths to steady himself. He could do this. He could. Grabbing parchment from his father’s desk, he wrote quickly and attached the letter to the dark owl sitting on his father’s desk. “Deliver this to… Lord Voldemort.”

It flew out the open window and Draco watched it leave, his chest tightening as it got smaller in the distance. What the bloody hell had he just done?

 

____________________

 

The room was small, but elaborately decorated. Perhaps a little dated, but very decadent in its own right - the tapestries on the walls were clean, but there were moth holes in a few, the throne was extravagant, but there were nicks in it in places, the carpet was a rich burgundy, but there was the occasional stain. Had everything been new, however, Draco could see how the throne room that he was standing in might have been very elegant. Of course, he wasn’t paying much attention to the room, because Lord Voldemort was sitting in front of him in the nicked up throne, staring at him with red eyes and breathing threw his slit, snakelike nose. Why had this been a good idea again?

Dropping to one knee, Draco bowed forward, “My Lord.”

Voldemort made a noise that sounded like something between approval and annoyance. “Stand.” Draco stood, wishing his knees would stop shaking. “What is it that you wanted to speak with me about?”

One of the many rumours going around was that the Dark Lord was an accomplished Legilimens and as he looked at the red eyes, Draco decided that he believed that one; best not to lie then. “It’s about my mother.”

“You’re mother?”

“Yes, my Lord. My Father had a plan and I have been working very hard for many years. With him gone, she has seen fit to put a halt to it. I disagree with her and I think you will as well.”

Voldemort steepled his fingers and Draco was reminded of Snape when he was observing an animal he had just tested a potion on. “What if I do?”

“Then I am hoping you will persuade her to allow me to continue my efforts”

“I do not appreciate my followers being cryptic, young Draco. Either tell me what you wish to do for me, or I will consider this a waste of my time.”

Draco gulped lightly and looked at the carpet, taking that single moment to steel himself before looking back up. “My father has been sending me to spend time with Potter since I was nine-years-old. The hope was that he and I would become friends and that I would have access to him, that I would have his trust.”

The hairless eyebrow ridge raised and wrinkled slightly, “Has it worked?”

“Yes, my Lord, I have his trust.”

“Are you his friend?”

Draco forced a smirk, hoping it did not look too much like a grimace. “And more.”

Voldemort kept his eye contact for several moments and Draco felt a tingle in the base of his skull. An image of Harry on his knees in front of him flashed in front of his eyes and he blinked, caught off guard by the sudden recollection. Voldemort allowed his thin lips to smile, just slightly. “Yes, I do believe you are telling me the truth. You can bring me the boy?”

This was where he had to be careful. He wouldn’t, he _couldn’t_ turn Harry over, but if what his mother had told him was true, he wouldn’t have to. “It is my understanding that the security at the school has been tightened to such an extreme that that may be impossible at the moment, but I wish to continue my… affair with him, so as not to raise his suspicions. My mother is worried that it would be too dangerous, especially if I am to take your Mark.”

“Ah. Then the issue is not simply your mother. It is whether you are to take my mark.”

“I want to.” Draco cursed himself for speaking too quickly, sounding too eager. “I just believe that showing my support for you so openly might hinder my progress with Potter.”

Voldemort dropped his hands to his knee, “Come here.”

Slowly, Draco walked to the throne and stood facing the thing that his father served, the thing he was expected to serve. There was something in the cheekbones and the line of the jaw that indicated that the Dark Lord may once have been an attractive man, but there was so little human left in him that any of that beauty was hidden behind the snakelike features currently set in the face. One of the slender hands reached up and ran a long finger across Draco’s face, tracing his jaw thoughtfully.

“You are a very handsome young man, very much like your father, but perhaps a trace more delicate.”

Had anyone else called him ‘delicate’, Draco might have felt the need to defend himself. As it was, he was lucky that he was still standing. “Thank you, my Lord.”

“Hm, seduction is an adult’s game. Are you quite sure that you are up to the challenge?”

The finger was moving down the side of his neck. “I… I think so.”

“Can you, at your age, separate what you feel from what you do?”

He thought about what he was doing now. Standing before the Dark Lord, forcing himself to be in the presence of the man who wanted to kill the boy he lo… fancied. Enduring that touch so he could spend even a few weeks with his Harry. “Yes.”

Apparently, something in his tone, or perhaps in his mind, convinced the Dark Lord that he was serious. Dropping the hand, Voldemort smiled, a rather insidious gesture on the lipless face. “Very well, I will inform your mother that you are to leave for Hogwarts immediately and we’ll postpone your initiation for now. However, should you take your freedom too lightly, Draco Malfoy, I may feel the need to remind you of whom you belong to.”

Draco felt the blood leaving his face and nodded. “Of course, my Lord. I am yours.”

“Very well, you are dismissed.”

With another low bow, he turned and left the room, conscious of everything form the carpet under his feet to the eyes boring into the back of his head. He’d done it. He was going to Hogwarts to see Harry. His mother was going to be so pissed.

 

____________________

 

His mother had not been pleased, but then he hadn’t expected her to be. After spending several hours ranting at him for foolishness, she had gone to send a letter to the school, requested that Draco be allowed to visit Harry. Ten hours later, he was standing in Dumbledore’s office, watching house elves disappear with his trunk.

“Mr. Malfoy, it is a pleasant surprise to have you here. I must say, I had not expected to hear from you this summer.”

Draco looked around the office, trying not to make eye contact with Dumbledore. He’d done a moderate amount of research on Legilimency and found that the Dark Lord was not the only powerful wizard alive reported to be competent in the art. He had also read that there was a counter measure, Occlumency, and he was hoping that he could ask Snape about it.

When Draco didn’t say anything, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. “Have a seat, there are some things that we need to discuss before I send you on your way.”

Reluctantly, Draco did as he was asked, declining tea and lemon drops. “Is something the matter, Professor?”

“No, but due to circumstances, this summer is going to be a bit different from the previous ones and I wish to make myself absolutely clear on the rules that are to be followed while you are here.”

“Different, sir?”

Dumbledore popped one of the lemon drops in his mouth. “Yes, you see Professor Snape has been called home for the summer and will not be returning until the start of term.”

He hadn’t known Snape even had a home. Well, okay, logically, he had to have a home, but Draco had never been to it and Snape was always at the school. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the state of disrepair the place must be in. “So, we’ll be in the Tower with Professor McGonagall then?”

“No, I’m afraid that other than Professors Hagrid, Trelawney and Firenz, none of the teachers were able to stay. It is dark times, Mr. Malfoy, they wished to spend time with their families while they still can.”

Draco felt his cheeks redden. He hadn’t really put much thought about what it was like for wizarding families who didn’t support Voldemort. He’d thought about Harry, but Harry was here and he was safe and his own family, or what was left of it, was perfectly safe as long as they didn’t do anything stupid to anger the Dark Lord.

Like falling for the boy who was prophesied to kill him.

“However, you are nearly sixteen-years-old and I would like to think that you can stay in a room unsupervised without causing yourself great harm. To that end, you will be staying in Professor McGonagall’s rooms for the summer. If you need anything I will be here, or either of the Divinations Professors are on hand. Also, there is at least one Auror in the castle at all times for Harry’s safety.”

Draco was slightly taken aback by the amount of freedom that Dumbledore was granting him. His father was now a known Death Eater. Dumbledore had to know that Draco was in line to take his father’s place in Voldemort’s ranks. So, why was he giving him free access to the Boy-Who-Lived? What was he trying to gain by this?

“Sir, I’m not sure I understand.”

“It’s quite simple, my dear boy, I am simply informing you that should you need anything there will be an adult nearby, but you are otherwise free to entertain yourselves. Now, as to the rules. There will be no leaving the castle grounds. However, if you intend to go anywhere outside of the castle itself, I do ask that you inform Professor Hagrid so that he can keep an eye on you.”

There was a very long pause while Draco waited to hear something along the lines of, ‘and handing Harry over to Death Eaters is expressly forbidden,’ but Dumbledore wasn’t saying anything, “Is… is that all, Professor?”

Dumbledore nodded and stood up, “Oh, yes, and one more thing. Please refrain from overindulging in sweets. The house elves will bring you anything you ask for, but cake and pie at every meal is hardly nutritional. Try and eat at least one well-balanced meal a day if you can.”

After several moments, Draco nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Well then, that is all. Unless you have something you wish to tell me?”

There was that piercing gaze again and Draco dropped his eyes, “No, sir.”

“Very well, I’ve not had time to inform Harry that you were coming, but I dare say he will be very happy to see you.”

Draco stood up and tentatively walked towards the door, still waiting for some kind of admonishment from the Headmaster. None came. He closed the office door behind him and walked down the spiral stairs in a daze. This was unreal. Dumbledore was… trusting him? Draco stopped and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking around the deserted hallways.

He’d never been so explicitly trusted before and it was strange - kind of lonely, actually. He’d just have to hurry up and get to Harry so that he could take his mind off the Headmaster and his stupid mind games. Yes, that was exactly what he needed. Harry… and maybe sex. Sex was always fun.

 

____________________

 

Draco didn’t knock on McGonagall’s door. There really wasn’t a point and, if he were entirely honest with himself, he was looking forward to the look on Harry’s face when he came sauntering into the room.

In the few minutes that it took him to walk there, he’d mapped the entire event out in his head. He would open the door very quietly so that Harry, who would of course be in his bedroom at the top of the stairs, wouldn’t hear it. Then he would close the door just as quietly and sneak up the steps one at a time. When he finally got to the top, he’d take a deep breath, put on his smuggest smile, and open the door to Harry’s room, sauntering in and laying down next to Harry as if nothing were out of sorts.

It was perfect. Except that when he opened the door to the tower rooms, he found Harry lying on the couch that faced the door with a pensive, sad look on his face, staring up at a little mirror that he was holding in one hand, while his other arm rested on his forehead. There was something intimate about the moment, something that Draco didn’t like interrupting.

Harry turned his head sharply towards the door and nearly dropped the mirror. “Draco?”

Draco forced a smirk and leaned against the door, “Harry.”

He’d expected a good many reactions. The preferred being, of course, joy, although he would have settled for a shocked happy. Instead, Harry just continued to stare at him, his frown deepening. “What are you doing here? I thought you were staying home this summer. I thought…”

Draco shrugged, unsure what to say. He’d assumed that they’d left on good terms. They’d had the spat, but then Harry had started crying and they’d spent the rest of that evening out by the lake. Sure, they hadn’t talked, but they’d held each other, didn’t that mean anything? His smirk slipped a little, “I wanted to see you.”

Bright green eyes stared at him in disbelief. “You wanted to see me?”

There was betrayal in his voice and Draco couldn’t quite understand what he’d done to deserve it. “I just…”

Harry sat up, placing the little mirror carefully onto the coffee table with more reverence than Draco had ever treated any of his own possessions. “You just _what_ , Draco? Why did you want to see me?”

An uncomfortable tingle swelled in the pit of his stomach. He knew why, had been able to admit it to himself just before going into the floo. He loved Harry. He really, genuinely loved him and that was terrifying. He wasn’t even sixteen yet and he was in love with another boy. Not just shag-him-a-few-times-and-leave-him love, either, but a defy-the-Dark-Lord sort of love.

He couldn’t tell Harry that, though. “Why does it matter?”

Harry stood up, his fists clenched at his hands. “It matters because I’m tired of not being sure of you. I’m fifteen. I’m supposed to be worrying about hand holding and being embarrassed over not knowing how to snog. I’m not supposed to be shagging someone who’s going to turn around and join my worst enemy.”

Draco couldn’t think of anything to say to that. It was almost the same thing he had been thinking. Well, except that part where he was worried his lover was going to join the Dark Lord.

“Not three weeks ago you told me flat out that you were going to join Voldemort and now you want me to pretend that you didn’t, just so we can spend a fun filled few weeks together and for what? So you can get in a few more shags before it’s over?”

“God, Potter, you sound like a girl.” Draco could have bitten his tongue off for saying that. Harry was only saying what he himself had been thinking and it was frustrating. Why was he there? He loved Harry and he wanted to be with him, but wasn’t it just an elaborate goodbye? Voldemort wasn’t going to believe him forever. He figured that he could get this summer out of it, maybe next year if he pushed really hard, but it wouldn’t last and he knew it.

Harry went a little pale and looked down at the carpet thoughtfully before suddenly laughing. “I do, don’ I? Here I spend all year making fun of Cho with Ron for all those conflicting emotions she was feeling, because we couldn’t understand how anyone could feel all that without absolutely exploding and look at me? I’m doing the same bloody thing. I love you, but I hate you. I can’t stand to be near you, but I don’t want you to leave. I can’t forgive that you’d even think about joining Voldemort, but I want to beg you not to. I really am acting like a girl.”

Harry looked up at him a funny smile on his face. “Fine, you want to, then we’ll just… pretend for right now.”

Draco wasn’t sure what to say to that. Harry loved him? However, Harry didn’t give him time to think about it. Before he could blink, Harry marched over to him and he was being slammed against the door, his hands caught on either side of his head, and Harry was staring at him intently. He wrenched his left hand free and grabbed the back of Harry’s head, pulling him into a hard kiss, pressing his tongue into Harry’s mouth urgently.

It was so familiar and so perfect. Harry tasted like chocolate and cinnamon. He pulled his other hand free and grabbed Harry’s hip, dragging him closer. He was already aware of his own painful erection and the feeling Harry’s hard cock pressed against his, even through layers of clothing and cloaks, made him moan heatedly.

Harry shoved his hands past Draco’s robes and popped the buttons of his trousers open. Harry yanked his mouth away from Draco’s seeking lips, “Draco, I want to suck you off.”

Draco moaned as Harry dropped to his knees and wrapped his lips around Draco’s cock, taking it down his throat with no pretence, no teasing, just a low throated moan that made Draco’s knees shake. God, it felt so good and the fact that it was Harry made it even better.

Harry’s throat closed around the head of his cock and Draco pressed his head against the wall and put his hand on the back of Harry’s head. He didn’t use any force, but the added sensation of feeling Harry’s head move under his hand tipped him over the edge. He clenched his fingers in the black strands as his orgasm washed over and he felt the vibration of Harry’s throat as he moaned, coming over his own hand.

As Draco panted, still leaning against the wall, Harry stood up and kissed him again. The sweetness of the cocoa mixed with the bitterness of Draco’s cum was intoxicating and Draco deepened the kiss, lingering on it for as long as he could. Harry pulled back and looked at Draco, his face was flushed and his eyes were glistening.

Was he crying? Draco reached up a hand to touch Harry’s face and Harry jerked away. “I can’t do this.”

Without another word, he pushed past Draco and ran down the hall. Draco stood alone in the room, staring vacantly at the muggle decorations and little framed pictures on the wall. What the bloody hell was he supposed to do with that?

 

____________________

 

God, what the hell had been thinking?

Harry wasn’t even sure where he was anymore. It always surprised him that no matter how many times he told himself that there couldn’t possibly be any corridors he hadn’t already explored, he always came across a new one, or managed to get lost. This time, he was in a corridor that was obviously disused. There were cobwebs hanging off the candles and the charms that were supposed to light them as people past had worn off almost entirely so that only one in every four or five actually lit.

Not that any of that mattered, he’d just needed to get away and ‘get away’ he had. How was he supposed to pretend that there wasn’t anything wrong with any of this? He was sleeping with the enemy, literally. Hell, he was giving the enemy head right in his own living room and this time ‘enemy’ didn’t just mean school rival, it meant Death Eater, minion of the Dark Lord that was out to kill him.

So why was it that he could still feel the weigh of Draco’s cock on his tongue? Why did his lingering taste just about make him hard again? Harry ran a finger over his lips and sighed. This wasn’t any good. He really was acting like a girl.

What would Ron do in this situation? Would Ron sit around acting like a ninny, worrying about emotions and the future when he had a willing partner at his disposal? No, of course not, because Ron was a man, he would be perfectly willing to set aside his differences until after the sex had been had. Hell, he might not even approach it after the sex. Ron was fairly good at avoiding his emotions until they bit him on the arse. Like Hermione, the day Ron admitted what he felt for Hermione was the day Harry stood in front of the whole school and announced that he was in love with Draco Malfoy.

Good thing Ron was never going to do that. Not anytime soon, anyway.

Putting his head on his knees, Harry sighed. For now, he’d just sit there and try not to think about anything. Not about Draco, not about Voldemort, and not about Sirius. Nothing.

 

____________________

 

Harry had debated coming back for dinner, but eventually, he’d decided it would simply be childish of him to skip it, so he’d gone back to his rooms and found Draco reading one of his books, that familiar scowl plastered on his face. “Harry, how can you possibly stand this tripe?”

“The Scarlet Letter is not tripe.” Harry took the book out of his hands and didn’t miss the annoyed flinch. “It’s classic literature.”

Draco shrugged and crossed his arms, “It may be classic, but it’s still tripe. Why would anyone want to read a story about a woman who gets herself knocked up? It’s hardly an accomplishment.”

Instead of answering him, Harry put the book on the down on the coffee table, next to the little mirror that he’d left there that afternoon and went to the table, sitting down. Draco had barely stood to follow him when a strangely familiar house elf popped into the room wearing a number of hats on top of his bald little head.

“What is Harry Potter sir wanting for dinner?”

Harry’s cringe was quickly smoothed over into a smile, “We’ll have roast chicken and vegetables, Dobby, thank you.”

Dobby, the freakish little thing that Harry had managed to set free under his father’s nose some years ago was working at Hogwarts? Dobby gave a sheepish smile before popping away. When he didn’t move to join Harry at the table, Harry looked at him, “What?”

“That’s my house elf, isn’t it?”

He didn’t really need confirmation, but he was somehow startled when Harry shrugged. “Yeah, he’s been working here for over a year.”

“Working?!”

Suddenly, Harry’s face split into an evil sort of grin, the kind that Draco never associated with innocent little Harry Potter. “Yes, _working_. As in, he gets _paid_ , and he gets the occasional day off.” To Draco’s growing horror, Harry didn’t stop there. “Hermione’s started a whole society for it - the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare. She makes them clothes. Did you see Dobby’s socks? I’m sure he’d be happy to show you.”

Two plates of roasted chicken popped in front of them, both piled with green beans and carrots. A basket of rolls appeared, followed by a little tray of butter and two glasses of cold beverage that didn’t look anything like pumpkin juice. Draco couldn’t move. He tried to imagine house elves wearing clothes and getting paid, but his mind seemed to have locked up at the mere suggestion. It was absurd. House elves didn’t need clothes and they certainly didn’t need wages. What would they spend it on? All they ever did was work.

Harry picked up the glass and drank it, his eyes fluttering for a moment before he looked back at Draco. “You going to eat, or are you just going to sit there gawking all evening?”

“Malfoy’s don’t gawk.” It had been an automatic response, but one he suddenly regretted, because Harry had frowned at it. “I mean, I’m not gawking.”

“Sure you’re not. Come on, before it gets cold.”

Draco sat down and looked at the meal. He was somewhat surprised that Harry would order something so conventional when there were no adults around. From what Dumbledore had told him, he’d expected that he would have to keep Harry in check and make sure he ate proper food. Instead, he found himself looking at a very healthy array. Well, except for the strange beverage.

He picked up the glass and looked at it closely. It was black, but it wasn’t thick enough to be coffee and there were little bubbles in it. He sloshed it and more of the bubble appeared, accompanied by a soft hissing sound. “What is this?”

Harry chuckled, “It’s Coke.”

“Coke? Is that Muggle?”

“The professors won’t let me have any ‘cause they say it’ll rot my teeth. Well, except Flitwick, who just said ‘no’. It’s brilliant, though, try some.”

Reluctantly, Draco put the glass to his lips and tilted it back, letting just a little of the liquid run in. It tasted… strange. Not bad, really, just strong and very sweet. As he held it on his tongue the strange tingling sensation that had been no more than a tickle, became more pronounced and suddenly much sharper. Fighting the urge to spit it out, he swallowed thickly and looked at the glass again, torn between amazement and disgust.

“That was…”

“Odd, I know. It’s been years since I had any. I nearly choked it up the other day.”

He’d wanted to say horrible, but truth was the lingering taste in his mouth wasn’t all that bad, a little heavy, maybe, but not bad. Cautiously, Draco took another sip and then another. Actually, it was kind of good once you got past the tingling.

“You said that Muggles made this?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s… not bad.”

Harry chuckled across from him and he looked up, watching as Harry waved a piece of chicken impaled on a fork at him. “We’ll make a Muggle lover out of you yet, Draco Malfoy.

He paled slightly at the implication, but the half smile on Harry’s face was worth the humiliating accusation. Besides, maybe it wasn’t so humiliating.

 

____________________

         

“But wouldn’t that hurt?”

Draco rolled his eyes, “Not if done properly.”

Harry looked again at the magazine that lay open between them on the bed. It was the customary thing one saw in this sort of magazine, two men having sex, but this wasn’t just sex, this was one man with his cock up another man’s arse. This was buggery. This was butt sex and that was very, very intimidating.

They’d spent the past four days doing nothing in particular. They flew at the Quidditch pitch, they had sex, they talked, they had sex, they did homework, they had sex, they ate dinner and Harry had to fend off Draco, because he really wasn’t up for sex right after meals, but later that night, after the food had settled, he’d relent and they’d have more sex. It had all been well and good until Draco had pulled out a magazine that afternoon and opened it to a page, telling Harry that he wanted to try… well, _that_.

“Do you even know how to do it properly?”

Draco rolled his eyes and picked up the magazine, “It says right here that the key to really fantastic anal sex is preparation and lubrication.”

“What?”

“Preparation: the getting ready for the act - they suggest all sorts of toys, but we really don’t have any of those so I suppose I’ll have to stick with using my fingers. As for lubrication we could always…”

Harry scooted away, “You are not sticking anything up my arse!”

Draco blinked and looked up, surprised. “Hm?”

“You heard me. If you want to try this, you can bloody well bottom yourself.”

For several moments they stared at each other as Draco tried to reason in his head that he really shouldn’t be getting even the tiniest bit aroused at the prospect of having anything shoved up his arse. Unfortunately, his body didn’t feel the same way. Shifting on the bed, he sighed in resignation. Fine, he hadn’t thought he was gay and apparently he was a screaming queen, because he couldn’t even get it up in the presence of a half naked woman anymore; maybe he’d like taking it up the arse, as well. Besides, if it turned out he didn’t, he was sure Harry would stop.

“All right, I bottom. Now about lubricant…”

“Are you serious?” He looked up at Harry, irritated at having been interrupted yet again, especially now that his own arse was at stake. Harry was staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Draco looked down at the article again as he felt his cheeks heating up. “Of course, I’m serious. Have you ever known me to joke about sex?”

“Well, no, but…”

“So, as I was saying. We obviously don’t have any lubricant on hand here, so we have three options. We can make do with what we have here and hope for the best, we can try and sneak into Snape’s stores and hope there’s something there we can use, or we can try one of the spell that the magazine recommends.”

“Spells?”

Draco’s blush deepened as Harry’s voice cracked at the word. “Yes, Harry, spells. We are wizards after all, we do have wands.”

“Oh.”

With a frustrated sigh, Draco finally looked up at Harry’s bewildered face. “These articles are chalk full of helpful spells. Didn’t you read any of them?”

This time it was Harry who looked away. “I haven’t really been looking at the articles.”

Draco rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Hold out your hand.”

Reluctantly, Harry extended his arm and unclenched his fingers. Draco aimed his wand at Harry’s hand and the next moment his palm was covered in a clear, thick gel. “What the…” He moved his hand and the gel slipped a little, a small drop falling into the bed.

Draco reached forward and ran a finger in it, before rubbing the tips of two of his fingers together experimentally. “Is it supposed to be this cold?”

Harry gaped, unable to force breath into his lungs. Not only had Draco said he wanted to have anal sex, but then he’d said he was willing to bottom and now Harry was sitting with a glob of lubricant in his hand. How had he gotten himself into this and how was he going to get out of it? Looking up, he watched Draco surveying the mess on his fingers, his sharp little nose scrunched up in curiosity, his pale blond hair falling into his grey eyes. More importantly, did he want to get out of it?

“Hm, I think it’s warming up.”

It took Harry a moment to realize that Draco was talking about the lubricant; the lubricant that he expected Harry to put on his cock, the cock that he was going to shove up Draco’s arse. Oh, bloody hell.

Draco shrugged and wiped his fingers on the top of the quilt before looking back at Harry. “So, you ready?”

Ready. To shove something up someone’s arse. “I think so?”

“You think so?”

Harry looked back at the magazine that Draco had dropped and saw the picture of the young man on his back, his knees up and his back arched in ecstasy as the man above him slowly pumped into his body. Instantly, Harry felt his cock harden. “No, I mean, I am ready. Just, how do we start this?”

Draco smirked smugly, “Well, it starts with us getting naked.”

“Prat.” Not that Harry meant it, because he was already taking his shirt off, but then he reckoned Draco knew he didn’t mean it, because Draco had gotten rid of his shirt already and was moving on to his trousers. When they were naked, Harry found himself once again at a loss. Luckily for him, Draco was not and immediately lay down on his back, lifting his knees and spreading his legs invitingly.

“Well, Harry, what are you waiting for?”

Harry looked at his hand. What was he waiting for? Looking down between Draco’s legs, he surveyed the other boy’s stiff penis, his ball sac, and the puckered entrance of his arse. He was really going to do this and he was really, really excited about it.

Shifting forward, he dipped his fingers in the gel. It really was cold. Reaching forward, he stopped.

“What are you waiting for?” Draco pushed up onto his elbows and looked at Harry critically. “Are you nervous? You have absolutely no right being nervous. If anyone in this room is going to be nervous, Harry, it’s me, because I am the one who is about to have something put up my arse.”

Harry slapped Draco’s thigh with his clean palm, “Shut it.”

Much to his surprise, Draco did. This was far too awkward. Maybe he should start with something he knew. Leaning down, he wrapped his lips around Draco’s cock and ran his tongue around the tip. Draco moaned and moved his hands to Harry’s head. Pulling back, Harry moved the hands away. “Grab the headboard.”

Draco looked at him with half lidded eyes, glazed in lust, “What?”

“Grab the headboard and no touching; just let me do this.”

The thing with Draco was that when it came to getting sex, he was willing to do almost anything. So, he reached up and grabbed the headboard, wrapping his slender fingers around the wooden poles. “Merlin, Potter, just fucking _do_ it.”

Harry felt the uncertainty drain from his body as he gained control over the situation. He really liked to be in control and with Draco, he rarely was. “I told you to shut it.”

Before Draco could say anything in rebuttal, Harry went back down, swallowing Draco into his throat. The way Draco bucked up made Harry feel absolutely drunk with power, his head was light with it. He didn’t hesitate this time as he dipped his fingers down and bellow Draco’s scrotum, searching until he felt the tight pucker.

Gently, Harry pushed the finger in, listening for any sign of discomfort from his lover. Draco moaned and his body tensed, tightening against the intrusion. “Fuck…”

Harry pulled away, “Are you okay?”

“Feels… really odd.”

“I can stop.”

Draco opened his eyes and glared. “Did I tell you to stop?”

As a response, Harry pushed it in further and Draco dropped his head back again, gasping softly. Thing was, it didn’t sound entirely like pain. Inside Draco’s arse, it was warm and incredible tight and Harry doubted that he was going to be able to put even another finger in there, let alone his cock.

His finger was more than half way in when it brushed against something. Harry wasn’t really sure what it was, or even how to describe it really, but what he was sure of was that when he touched it, Draco’s eyes had shot open and he let out the most delicious moan Harry had ever heard.

“Oh, god! Oh, god, Harry, do that again.”

Intrigued, Harry complied; pulling his finger out and pushing it back in, this time all the way to the knuckle. He watched in awe as Draco’s hands tightened on the headboard and he moaned again, deep throated and urgent. All thought of being in control fled and when Draco told him to keep going, he immediately moved to do so.

After several minutes of moving his finger in and out of the tight pucker and twisting it around, Draco was a quivering mess of whimpering need and Harry decided that perhaps he could try a second finger. He pulled his one finger out and when he pushed back in this time, added a second. Draco tensed for a moment, and then slowly began to relax.

“Do you need me to…?”

“So help me, Harry, if you stop right now I might never forgive you.”

With a wicked smile, Harry ran his tongue up the length of Draco’s cock, twisting the two fingers as he pressed them up. He’d barely reached the tip when Draco gave a shuddering cry and came, spewing cum onto Harry’s face.

Harry pulled back a little and used the back of his free hand to wipe the mess from his cheek. Draco was panting, “That was absolutely the most… intense orgasm I’ve ever had.”

“Really?” Making someone cum wasn’t much of an accomplishment, but making someone cum so hard they were shaking afterwards? Harry couldn’t help but feel at least a little proud of himself.

Draco finally managed to get his voice under control, though his legs were still quivering slightly in their upraised position. “Absolutely brilliant.” He couldn’t even imagine if fingering was that good, what actual fucking would feel like. Not that he was going to find out now that he’d cum all over himself.

He was wondering how long it would take before he’d be up for another go around when Harry started to pull his fingers out and the friction made Draco’s cock twitch. Apparently, it wasn’t going to take that long. He opened his eyes to see Harry staring at him intently. “Don’t stop.”

Harry nodded and Draco put his head back down and concentrated on the feeling of those fingers moving inside him. He’d thought that it had to feel good, at least a little, otherwise people wouldn’t go around doing it so much, but he hadn’t expected it to be this intense.

He felt a third finger slide in next to the other two and winced slightly as it stretched him just that much wider. However, like the two fingers before it, the discomfort quickly faded as it moved. His cock was already fully erect again and even though he had come not five minutes earlier, he didn’t think he’d last very long if Harry kept that up.

“Harry.” He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that the other boy was staring at him again, waiting for instructions. “Harry, I think I’m ready.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m bloody sure, now get on with it before I hex you.”

The fingers pulled out and he shuddered, whimpering when his arse clenched around nothing. Draco opened his eyes as his legs were pushed further apart to accommodate Harry’s hips. He was really doing this. If his father ever found out… He cut off that particular train of thought, because thinking about his father was apparently not conducive to maintaining any sort of an erection.

Harry’s brows were synched together in concentration as he positioned himself and started to press forward. Draco had been doing a great deal of reading on this the past few days and while the majority of what he had found had been in porn magazines, it was better than having no clue whatsoever. Every article he’d read said that he should relax and push out. Taking a deep breath, he concentrated on doing just that. Unfortunately, all concentration was broken when the head of Harry’s cock quite literally popped past his anus and slid in almost a full inch.

“Fuck!”

Harry stopped moving and Draco closed his eyes, biting his lip determinedly. He let go of the headboard in favour gripping the pillow, because he seriously thought he might wrenched the posts out. The cock inside of him felt incredibly huge, too huge. It felt like it was splitting him open, but it also felt… good, full, if only it would move.

“Are you okay?”

Draco opened his eyes and all he could see was Harry’s eyes, bright green and wide as they stared down at Draco in wonder. Draco gulped and tasted the sharp tang of copper in his mouth. He licked his lip and blood spread over his tongue. He must have bitten his lip too hard.

Looking back up at Harry, his chest tightened at the reverent gaze. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what he’d done to deserve that. “I’m… I’m fine. Just… move or… or do something.”

Harry nodded, the look of concentration so intense that Draco couldn’t drag his eyes away from it. Instead of pushing in farther, Harry pulled out just slightly and slide back in, no deeper than he had before, but that slight movement, coupled with the look on his lover’s face was enough to fog his brain. Good god, the pain of being stretched coupled with the sheer pleasure of having Harry’s cock inside him; he couldn’t even wrap his mind around it.

With every shallow thrust, Harry went a little deeper, until he finally stopped, and Draco realized that Harry was root deep inside him and he could feel Harry’s balls against the cleft of his arse. At some point Draco had let go of the bed and wrapped his arms around Harry’s back, grabbing his shoulders. He couldn’t even remember doing it, but now he was conscious of the sweat under his hands.

Harry took a long, shaky breath. “I don’t think I can last much longer.” He was panting, out of breath and there was a desperate edge to his voice.

Draco nodded, but couldn’t force the words out, especially when Harry started to thrust in earnest. It lasted all of two minutes, two glorious, excruciating minutes. When he felt Harry still inside him, and the pulsing warmth spread inside him, telling him that Harry had cum, it only took one touch of Harry’s skilful hand to bring off a second time.

Harry pulled out of him and rolled off, lying on the bed next to him, naked and covered in sweat. “Draco, that was…”

“I know.”

Closing his eyes, Draco started to turn away from Harry, but for some reason, he didn’t want to turn away. Without giving himself time to hesitate, he turned back towards Harry and put his head on Harry’s shoulder, slinging an arm over his chest. Harry’s skin was wet and he smelled musky, but something about it was inviting, especially when Harry slid his own arm under Draco’s shoulder and squeezed.

Draco tried not to, but he couldn’t help thinking that this, right then was… perfect.

______________________

 

What was going to happen next year was as much a mystery to Harry as Snape’s underwear drawer - he didn’t want to go there and not even wild thestrals could have forced him anywhere near it. So, instead of talking, which would have in all probability led to some kind of remark on their future, Harry and Draco had done little more than play Quidditch, do homework, and have sex over the last three weeks. Well, to be honest they had done a great deal of eating, as well, but they were sixteen-year-old boys and that was to be expected.

To make things interesting, Draco had allowed Harry to pick out some very low-class fair for him to try and in return, Draco had taught Harry how to eat some of the finer dishes available in the wizarding world. Harry had eyed each dish with as much misgiving as Draco had his, but in the end had tried every one of them, though a few he had vowed never to eat again.

_“It moved, Draco.”_

_“It’s supposed to do that, besides, it not as if it’s raw, or anything and if you cut it in half, it stops wiggling.”_

_“It was slimy.”_

_“That wasn’t slime, that was sauce, made from the juice of its…”_

_“I don’t want to know. I ate it and I’m never doing it again, end of discussion.”_

The only problem with ignoring a situation like this was that, unlike Snape’s underwear drawer, Harry couldn’t help but at least think about.   Especially when they were enjoying the blissful haze that came just after a really intense orgasm, or when they were sitting together eating toast and jam in the morning. Harry knew that Draco would eventually be called back home and that he would go and from that moment on they would be enemies.

It was just that he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, because he was terrified that if he really tried to convince Draco otherwise, it wouldn’t work and then he’d know that whatever it was Draco felt for Harry, it wasn’t the same thing that Harry felt for Draco.

Draco looking up from sorting through the little jam bottles that were nearest him. “Could you pass the strawberry?”

“Don’t join Voldemort.” Of course, in the grand scheme of things, Harry’s mouth very often refused to listen to his brain.

Draco blinked, unable to form a proper thought. “Excuse me?”

Harry pursed his lips tightly, “You heard me. I said don’t join Voldemort.”

“Which has fuck all to do with strawberry jam. What the hell brought this on?”

Harry shook his head and his chest started aching horribly, “Forget it.” He pushed away from the table and managed to avoid Draco’s hand, which had stretched out to stop him.   If he stayed he was going to keep talking and if kept talking, he was going to say things that he didn’t want to say, personal things, things that Draco didn’t need to know.

He’d almost made it to the door when Draco caught up, grabbing him by his shirt and forcing him around. “Harry, what’s wrong? Did something happen?   Did you have some kind of vision, or something?”

Harry yanked his arm away, and practically hissed, “You know I’ve stopped having those.” When Draco didn’t say anything, Harry turned around and kicked the wall in frustration. “What will you do when he calls for you? When you get that owl from your mother saying that you’re needed at home, what are you going to do?”

“I…”

“Will you take the mark?”

Draco closed his mouth and thought about the best way to say what he wanted to. He couldn’t give away too much, couldn’t admit that he had met with Voldemort and promised himself to him so that he could spend just that summer with Harry, but he also couldn’t let Harry think he was going to actually join Voldemort, because he didn’t think he could stand Harry actually hating him. Besides, if his plans worked the way he wanted them to, it wouldn’t matter.

“I’m not taking the Dark Mark, Harry.”

Harry’s anger visibly faltered, “You’re not?”

“No.”

“…but when he calls…”

Draco stepped forward and put a hand on Harry’s face, watching carefully as Harry’s anger melted. “It’s taken care of.”

“How?”

He softened his voice to a near whisper, “Doesn’t matter.”

The thing with Harry was that he was very trusting, a fact that worked to Draco’s advantage as he pressed his mouth to Harry’s and felt the lips soften and open to him. In truth, he didn’t know what he was going to do if Voldemort insisted that he take the Mark.   He really hoped that it wouldn’t come to that.

Harry’s hands reached up and cupped his face and Harry pulled back a little, breathless. Draco looked at him, wondering briefly when Harry had reached his height and why he had never noticed it before. “Promise me, Draco. Promise you’re not going to join him.”

Draco put his hand on top of Harry’s and let the familiar, lazy smile grace his lips. “I promise, Harry.” It wasn’t a lie, because no matter what happened in the future, no matter if his body was branded, Draco knew who he truly belonged to.

 

 

**____________________**

 

 

When the letter eventually came, Draco had the good fortune to receive it while Harry was in the shower. He gave the owl a small treat and watched it fly off, still holding the little folded piece of parchment with the large green Malfoy family seal on it. He knew what it would say. His mother had never written him before during the summer, so logically…

The water turned off and he quickly shoved the letter under his pillow, then thought better of it and put it down the front of pajama pants instead, making sure that his shirt covered it. Harry came out a moment later, towel wrapped around his waist and his hair mussed in every which direction. “Go on.”

Draco hurried into the bathroom, closing the door quickly before taking out the letter and looking at it again. It felt overly heavy. Reaching over the bathing tub, he turned on the water and let it fill while he opened it. A little dingy coin fell out and Draco scoffed. A portkey, of course.

The contents of the letter itself were simple enough. The portkey would activate at midnight and Draco was expected to come with it. No words of wisdom, no wishes for good luck, but then his mother had to know that none of that would do any good.

Taking his wand out of his sleeve, he incinerated the letter and set the coin on the counter, next to his wand. The water was hot and Draco sat in it, watching his fair skin turn bright pink. He’d have to go. If he didn’t, his mother could get hurt and he would be a target. He just had to make sure that Harry was sound asleep by midnight.

He bathed and dressed as quickly as he could, taking to dispose of the ashes of the letter so that Harry wouldn’t question it. The day went normally, too normally, actually. Draco kept expecting something to happen, he thought that Harry would see how jumpy he was and start asking questions, but instead they went flying and Harry was all laughter and smiles. When they were done flying, Harry took him to the kitchens and they ate something called a corndog, which was a thick sausage, wrapped in yellow breath and dipped in mustard. Draco’s stomach was too knotted to eat much of anything, but Harry took it as a sign that Draco simply didn’t like the food and promised to let him choose dinner.

They’d gone to the library for something, Draco hadn’t been paying enough attention to know what, and ended up having sex. Not that he was complaining. He’d secretly had a plan to shag Harry in every room of Hogwarts and they hadn’t done the library yet. Still, he’d been distracted, but Harry hadn’t noticed, not that he noticed much of anything when his cock was being sucked.

For dinner Draco had made the house elves bring a simple dish, made with regular beef and rare mushrooms that could only be harvested on the full moon in certain deep forests around the world. They tasted earthy and rich, but most importantly, they were known for making people groggy, especially the first few times they ate it. Draco had stashed a pepper up potion in the pocket of his clock in the wardrobe.

Every minute ticked by slower than the one before it. Harry had fallen asleep almost as soon as they’d lay down, flopped on his stomach with his arms tucked in around him. It was only ten. What was he supposed to do for two hours? He took the coin out and fingered it absently.

Finally deciding that he couldn’t just lie there, he got up quietly, making sure that he didn’t shift the bed overly much. Harry mumbled a little, but didn’t wake up, or even move. The next task was getting his cloak out. He opened the door, turning the little knob and holding it until after it was closed. Taking one final look at Harry, he grabbed his clothes off the trunk and slipped out the door, leaving it open as he crept down the stairs.

 

 

**____________________**

 

 

Two minutes to midnight.

One minute to midnight.

Draco grasped the portkey in his closed hand and stared out the window on McGonagall’s Tower. He wasn’t sure he could do this. He wasn’t even sure what this was. He knew it was to do with Voldemort. He didn’t know if he would be permitted to come back to Hogwarts, or if he’d be able to once he had the mark. Surely, Dumbledore would know the minute a Death Eater stepped into his school.

Something grabbed onto his navel and the floor dropped out from under him. He grasped and closed his eyes, but it wasn’t long before his knees suddenly collided with a stone floor.   He managed to grit his teeth against a cry of pain, remembering what his father had said, ‘Pain is a weakness, and a Malfoy never shows weakness’.

He opened his eyes, taking deep breaths against the nausea that always accompanied that particular form of travel. In front of him, Voldemort sat on his moth-eaten throne and around him, stood five Death Eaters with their masks firmly in place, though he thought he saw a few strands of pale blonde hair beneath one of them. Was it his mother? He thought it was too long to be his father, but then his father was in Azkaban, he couldn’t possibly be there.

“Draco Malfoy, I am pleased that you decided to come.”

Draco forced himself up into a kneeling position and bowed his head respectfully, though it was mostly to hide his disgust. “There was no decision to be made, my lord, I am yours.”

He wasn’t, he was Harry’s, but that didn’t matter, mostly because right now he really didn’t want to die. Voldemort chuckled. “It pleases me to hear you say that. Tell me, how are your plans for Harry Potter going?”

“Well.” He didn’t want to elaborate. He was afraid that he would say the wrong word or that the tenor of his voice when he spoke would give away his true feelings.

“Look at me, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco looked up and locked eyes with Voldemort, knowing what was coming, but still not knowing how to avoid it. Something slithered into his mind and images of Harry slipped around before his eyes.   Harry laughing on a broom, staying just out of his reach; Harry sitting at the table first thing in the morning, his eyes half lidded; Harry pressing him against a table, snaking a hand under his shirt, pressing his warm fingers to Draco’s abdomen, panting in his ears…

It broke off suddenly and Draco closed his eyes instinctively, looking down and away. He felt violated, but he couldn’t give that away, not now. With a deep breath, he looked back up, meeting Voldemort’s eyes again, but the assault did not resume. Voldemort was smiling at him, clearly pleased with what he had seen.

“It appears your son is a very talented young man. You should be proud, Lucius.” Draco whipped his head around just in time to see one of the Death Eaters dip his head respectfully. When had he gotten out? Had he been released?   That couldn’t be it. If his father had been released from Azkaban and all charged dropped there would have been something in the prophet, but wouldn’t there have been some sort of news if there had been a break out, as well? “Although, you may wish to consider having another heir to secure the family line.”

Draco’s cheeks went hot and he did look away again. His father couldn’t know. He hated the man, but for some reason, he still wanted his approval, he still wanted his father to be proud of him.

“Draco.” His head snapped up, looking at Voldemort again. God, why did that thing have to be so absolutely hideous? “I have had your father removed from Azkaban and do you know why?” Draco bit the inside of his cheek, “because you will not be receiving the mark. I have decided that you shall continue to serve me in the capacity that you are now. Having someone that close to Potter will be a great asset to me and it will also help you in your next task.”

“Task?”

“Yes, I can’t mark you without alerting young Mr. Potter to your loyalties, but I can charge you with a task and if you fail, I will consider you a traitor, Mr. Malfoy, and will dispose of you as I see fit.”

Draco could hardly force breath into his lungs, but he somehow managed to speak. “How can I serve you, my lord?”

 

**____________________**

 

He was going to kill Dumbledore.

Draco had been transported back to the Tower well before dawn, but he hadn’t managed to force himself to leave the sofa in the living room. Voldemort wasn’t going to mark him, but he wanted proof that Draco was loyal to him. He’d expected that he would be told to capture Harry or to get Harry in a position where he could be captured. He had not expected Voldemort to tell him to kill Dumbledore.

Was that even possible? Voldemort himself hadn’t been able to do it. In fact, Voldemort didn’t even dare to invade Hogwarts because Dumbledore was there.   How the bloody hell was Draco supposed to kill him?

“Draco?”

He looked up to see Harry standing at the foot of the stairs, his hair mussed and a sleepy trail of dried drool next to his mouth. Draco couldn’t help but smile as Harry yawned and rubbed the back of his hands over his eyes. “Morning, Harry.”

“What’r you doing down here?”

Draco rubbed the smile off his face. “Waiting for you to wake up, git. Get dressed, I’m bored.”

Harry mumbled something and stumbled back up the stairs. Ten minutes later he came back down, dressed, but still rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What did you want to do?”

Draco looked him up and down critically. He was wearing those stupid muggle jeans again, the ones that he’d been wearing all summer. Draco had tried to convince to wear something else, anything else, but Harry had insisted that all of his other clothes were becoming absolutely threadbare and besides, they were comfortable.   The only good thing about them was that they did show off Harry’s arse rather well. At least, they did when he wasn’t wearing t-shirts that covered said arse.

“Could you at least put on a nice shirt?”

Harry raised an eyebrow and plopped down on the sofa next to him.   “You’re one to talk. Are those the same clothes you wore yesterday?”

It took all of Draco’s efforts to keep from blanching.   “Of course not, I own more than one grey jumper and black trouser.”

Harry shrugged and dropped his head back. “Merlin, but I am tired. What’s wrong with me, I must have slept a good ten hours.”

“You need juice.”

“What?”

Draco was already up and moving towards the table. “It’s the mushrooms from the steak last night, they’re known to make people groggy the first few times they eat them. You need some kind of acidic juice to help wake you up.”

With a great stretched, Harry shoved himself off the couch and sat heavily in his chair, looking at his glass thoughtfully. “Orange juice.”

It filled with pale orange liquid and Harry took up the glass, draining it in several large gulps, then sat it down and watched it refill as he called for Dobby and ordered breakfast. Draco just drank water, and ate a few pieces of dry toast. He felt too sick to his stomach real food.

The meeting had been a nightmare and it kept replaying in his head. What bothered him the most, was his father being there. He’d thought that Voldemort was too angry at the failure to procure the prophecy to rescue his Death Eaters just yet. Worse, Voldemort had mentioned that he had a plan for Lucius as well, but that it would come later. All Draco needed to worry about was staying close to Potter and proving his loyalty.

What plan? Did it have to do with Harry? Draco looked up at Harry through his lashes and watched him shove a bit of sausage in his mouth. Then again, even if he knew was there anything he could do to stop it? He’d been on the receiving end of his father’s punishments, both magical and physical, and there were Death Eaters that were far more vicious than Lucius Malfoy, Death Eaters that liked to get their hands really dirty.

He stopped mid-bite as an image of Walden McNair flashed through his mind. No, there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it, even if he knew what it was, so perhaps it was better that he didn’t.

“Are you not feeling well?”

Draco looked up and realised that he was still sitting with his toast half in his mouth, staring forward without really seeing. He shrugged, “I’m a bit queasy.”

Harry reached forward and put his hand on Draco’s forehead, “You don’t feel warm. Maybe we shouldn’t go out today. I know, we haven’t played chess in ages.”

Reluctantly, Draco found himself smiling at the prospect of spending a day inside, playing chess with Harry. There was just one thing wrong with it. “Make it strip chess and you’re on.”

“Strip chess?” Harry cocked his head to one side. “I thought you weren’t feeling well?”

“I’m not that ill. How about every time we lose a piece we lose an article of clothing?”

After several moments, Harry sat back in his seat and popped the last of his sausage in his mouth. “Alright, you’re on, but be prepared to be humiliated, Draco. I’ve been practicing.”

Draco doubted that there would be any humiliation involved, regardless of who won, but he nodded anyway.

 

 

____________________

 

 

“You have to eat more.” Harry poked his side and Draco scooted away from him.

“Shut up, _Potter_ , you’re starting to sound like my mother.”

Harry grinned at him impishly and Draco felt his cheeks heat up.   “No, I don’t, _Malfoy_ , your mother wouldn’t have even noticed.”

“How Slytherin of you to point that out.”

Harry’s smile never wavered. “If I thought you’d care, I wouldn’t have said it, but I did mean it.   You do have to eat more.”

Draco rolled his eyes and continued shoving his things into his trunk. “If it will make you stop nagging me, I’ll promise to eat three meals a day and desert for afters.”

The past two weeks had been very close what Draco assumed the lower levels of hell to be like. Every time he looked at Harry, he wondered what Voldemort had planned for him and should he warn him and would it help even if he did, and the Headmaster, who had been so elusive since his arrival, was suddenly around every corner, asking Draco if he was well or if there was anything he would like to talk about. The old codger had even invited them to dinner on a few occasions and Harry had always said yes with an air of elation that made it next to impossible for Draco to tell him he didn’t want to.

It was almost as if the man knew what Draco was planning to do and was set on making him feel as absolutely guilty about it as possible and, worse yet, if that was his plan, it was working. Draco was forced to watch as Harry talked with Dumbledore, smiling at him and doing and saying things that were obviously meant to earn his approval. Dumbledore wasn’t a father figure, no, but he was a mentor and every time Draco thought of killing Dumbledore, he now thought of how Harry had reacted to having Sirius taken away from him and how much worse this would be.

He couldn’t do it, but he couldn’t _not_ do it.

“Draco, catch.” He was pulled from his thoughts just in time to catch something that was flying at his face.   Then he nearly dropped it as sharp claws dug into his tender hand, nearly hard enough to break the skin. Opening his fingers he found himself looking at the miniature replica of the Hungarian Horn Tail that Harry had fought in fourth year.

Looking up, he saw Harry sitting on the bed, a faint blush at the tips of his ears. “You keep that, to remind you.” He didn’t even have to say what it was the dragon was supposed to remind him of. Just looking at it made the bottom of Draco’s stomach drop out.

The dragon climbed up Draco’s shirt and perched on his shoulder for a moment before leaning over and biting his ear. Harry laughed as Draco reached up, pulling the thing forcibly from his shirt and setting it down on the lip of his trunk. He looked at Harry reproachfully, but Harry just shrugged, “Forgot to mention it bites.”

Draco picked it up and set it in his pocket so that he could close his trunk and the dragon stirred fitfully, but didn’t try to set his robes on fire or otherwise rip its way through. He knew he’d be coming back the next year, he’d have to even if he did intend to follow through with Voldemort’s order, but it felt like his leaving was going to put something between him and Harry. This dragon was only proof of that.

“I promised I wouldn’t take his mark, Harry, and I meant it.”

Harry frowned at the bed quilt, still refusing to look up. “I know, but with your mother home and your father…”

Word of the breakout in Azkaban had reached the papers days ago and then the letter from Draco’s mother, requesting that he come home. Since then, Harry had been tetchy, going in and out of his moods like Draco’s mother on a potion-popping binge. It was hard to watch and even harder to know that Draco had been the cause of it.   If he were any braver, he would stay at Hogwarts, refusing to go home, but he wasn’t, so instead he was packing his trunk.

“I, um… I told my mother.”

Harry’s head shot up, finally looking him in the eyes. “That you weren’t joining Voldemort?”

Draco flinched, “Would you stop saying that name, Harry?   And no, not that, I told her that we were… well, more than friends.”

Harry blinked owlishly. “Oh. What did she say?”

“I didn’t really give her the chance to say anything.” Draco slipped a hand into his pocket, letting the dragon bite him. “That’s what all this is, I reckon. Father just wants to have a word with me about my predilections towards you. I’ll be soundly beaten and sent back to Hogwarts for the start of term in a few weeks.”

“You really think that’s all?”

  1. “Yes.”



“Snape’s coming back.” Draco raised an eyebrow, but Harry had gone back to looking at the quilt. “I’m to move back in with him at the end of the week.”

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t even know why he was saying it, but apologizing to Harry had to become easy, even when the mere thought of doing so to someone else made him physically ill. He was Draco Malfoy and he did not apologize, unless it was to Harry, because Harry was… well, Harry.

“No, it’s just that he was a right arse just before he left and somehow, I doubt he’s gotten any better.”

Draco slipped onto the bed across from Harry and rested his hand against the back of his neck. “Does he ever?”

“No.” It was barely a whisper, because Draco had drawn him forward into a kiss and Harry generally shut up when he was about to be thoroughly snogged.

Pulling back, Draco rested his forehead against Harry’s, “I have to go.”

“I know.”

He might as well have called him a traitor, because the tightness in Draco’s chest was both unfamiliar and painful. “It’s only for a few more weeks and then I’ll see you on the train.”

“I know.”

“I’ll drag you into a bathroom and snog you silly.”

“I know.”

“That is, of course, assuming you don’t go trying to be heterosexual again.”

Harry laughed, but it didn’t sound right. “I won’t.”

Getting off the bed, Draco put his hands in his pockets, almost relieved for the pain of the little dragon biting his finger, because for some reason he thought he might have been on the verge of crying. Why would he be crying over something this stupid? He’d be back in three weeks, that wasn’t so long.

Before he could lose his nerve, Draco turned around and stalked out of the room, practically running down the stairs in an effort to get away from his own cowardice. The problem was that his cowardice he was leaving behind, it was the thing that made him realize he was a coward. A braver man would never have left Harry alone, not for anything, but he as he’d said he wasn’t brave.

Dumbledore was waiting for him in his office and Draco felt his guilt mount as he looked at the old man’s kind blue eyes, twinkling with knowing. Damn, this wasn’t any easier than being in the stupid tower.   “I’m ready to go home, sir.”

With a nod, Dumbledore waved towards the fire, “By all means, Mr. Malfoy, I can hardly stop you.” Draco stopped mid step and looked back. What an odd thing to say. Dumbledore turned his chair to face Draco and crossed his hands in his lap. “Before you leave, however, is there anything you would like to tell me?”

Draco blinked a few times and felt his throat tightening. He knew. Merlin, he had to. The twinkle had gone out of his eyes, replaced by something far more stern. “I…” But how could he possibly know? He couldn’t.   It had to be a coincidence, or…

No, it was to do with his father again. It had to. This was just the same game of the Headmaster trying to get him to admit that he was abused at home and maybe he was, maybe his father’s punishments did get out of hand, but he only had two more years and then he’d have finished school and he could get a job and he could move out and it would be over with. It wasn’t so long and he wasn’t going to risk leaving, not now.

“No sir, I’d just like to get going.”

With a nod, Dumbledore turned around and Draco went to the fire, grasping the floo powder and throwing it in, watching the flames turn green as he said, “Malfoy Manor.” He glanced back at Dumbledore one last time. Maybe he should say something, maybe the Headmaster could help him. Voldemort didn’t dare go after Dumbledore and if Dumbledore could protect Harry, maybe he could protect him, too.

He bit his lip. No, there wasn’t anything the Headmaster could do against his father. If Draco turned coat, Lucius would pull heaven and earth to get Draco brought back home and from there is was only a short trip to Voldemort where he’d be tortured and killed for the traitor he’d become.

Closing his eyes, Draco took a deep breath and stepped into the flames, letting them sweep him home.


	9. Summer 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted in 2004. For anyone who's been wondering when that Rape/Non-Con tag is going to come into play, you have your chapter. Things will be taking a turn for the worse, so if you have triggers for trauma or violence, brace yourself or stop reading. Either, way, consider yourself warned.

Harry wished that there were some way he could have seen it coming. There had to have been something there, something in the way Snape had been acting, or the way he’d said things. Only there hadn’t been. There hadn’t been a single clue as to what Snape had been planning and so Harry had been taken completely by surprise.

The last few weeks of summer, Snape had been almost bearable to live with. He’d spent a great deal of time avoiding Harry, going so far as to not even take meals with him, but Harry had assumed that had to do with what had happened just before he’d left.   He hadn’t thought…

Even during the school year Snape hadn’t really gone out of his way to torment Harry. Of course, when there were other people around he was as nasty as ever, but during Harry’s detentions, Snape had said hardly a word to him, paying little to no attention. It had been somewhat nice, but also disturbing. While Harry had never liked the way Snape singled him out in order to tease and ridicule him, he found that he liked being virtually ignored even less.

Snape hadn’t been the only thing on his mind, however, because Draco had become very secretive, sneaking off for hours at a time and refusing to tell Harry where he was going. It made it even worse that every time Harry tried to follow him, he found him with different girls and somehow, when he finally figured out that those girls were Crabbe and Goyle, that hadn’t made it any better.  There had also been the attacks, first on Katy Bell and then Ron.   There had been Slughorn and the memory and Dumbledore’s lessons and the more Harry thought about it, the more he realized that there really hadn’t been any way he could have predicted the events that happened that night.

The worst of it wasn’t even that, though. The worst of it was the promise that Harry had made Dumbledore, the one he didn’t think he’d have to keep.

_“If anything should happen to me, Harry, I want you to promise me something.”_

_“Do you think something will happen?”_

_“No, my dear boy, nothing of the sort. Think of it as a precautionary measure, to keep my mind at ease.”_

_“Anything, sir.”_

_“If something should happen to me, I ask that you return to your aunt and uncle until you come of age.”_

_“But…”_

_“I know and I deeply regret having to ask this of you, but without my presence, I fear that Hogwarts will not be safe enough for you.”_

_“I don’t…”_

_“My only concern is for your safety, Harry.”_

_“All right. I promise.”_

He really hadn’t thought he’d have to keep it.   Dumbledore had always been there and Harry couldn’t imagine that anything could hurt him, let alone kill him, but he’d been proven wrong, hadn’t he? Snape had turned his wand against Dumbledore and now the Headmaster was dead and Harry was standing at the train station, flanked by two Aurors, waiting for his Uncle Vernon.

He’d had nightmares about this sort of thing. Nightmares where Uncle Vernon had come to get him, because he still thought he could stamp the freakishness out of Harry; nightmares where he was back in the cupboard, hungry and lonely, with only the spiders and the growling of his stomach to keep him company; nightmares that only Draco knew about. He felt his chest tighten at the thought of Draco.

“Boy!”

He started, his breath catching as he instantly recognized his uncles voice, even seperated by so many years, using that all too familiar epithet.   Tonks stiffened beside him and Kingsley pulled himself up to his full height. If he had been able to breathe, he might have smiled at the show of defensiveness on his behalf.

Grabbing his trunk, he picked up Hedwig’s cage, “Coming, Uncle Vernon!” He turned to the Aurors and nodded. “You’ll come to get me, then, on my birthday?”

Tonks grabbed him in a hug and he started a little, surprised by the display of affection, but then she had become much more affectionate since that night in the hospital wing. “Of course, you just take care of yourself until then.”

Kingsley nodded at him, “He gives you any trouble, you contact us and we’ll see to him.”

With a shaky smile, Harry nodded back and turned around, feeling like a man walking to his own execution. Uncle Vernon already had the trunk open, “Hurry up, boy.” His uncles hand twitched and Harry paled as he remembered several occasions when Vernon had hit him upside the back of his head for not being quick enough.

Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself as he heaved his luggage into the car. He could do this.   It was only four weeks, right? In one month Tonks and the others would come and get him, he’d go to Bill’s wedding and then he, Ron and Hermione would set off to find the rest of the Horcrux’s and he'd never have to see the Dursley's again. He could do this.

He slipped into the back seat and Uncle Vernon slammed the door hard, making Harry jump slightly, though he quickly recovered himself. They drove in absolute silence, Harry watching the sight of London slipping past his window with desperation. He hadn’t left Hogwarts in years. The closest he had come was the few times that Dumbledore had made Hagrid take him to Platform 9¾ so that he could ride the train with the other students or when he'd been escorted to Diagon Alley for his school supplies, but even then he had never left the safety of the wizarding world.

The radio turned on and the music that played grated at Harry’s ears. Professor McGonagall had bought him a radio for his room when he was eleven, but Harry had preferred the quiet and had rarely bothered to turn it on. The only music he listened to on a regular basis was the classical music that McGonagall sometimes put on while she was grading papers.

“Ruddy, teenage shite.” Uncle Vernon turned it off and Harry sighed in relief, only to stop himself when he saw his Uncle glaring at him from the rear view. “I’ll bet you like that kind of music, eh? Filthy trash, just like your parents.”

Harry felt his face heating up, but managed to get himself under control with a few deep breaths. Gritting his teeth, he forced out, “Yes, Uncle Vernon,” before turning to look out the window again.

It was just like dealing with Snape, really, he only had to go along with it and let Uncle Vernon talk and then he’d leave him alone.

“They’ve been teaching you that freakish nonsense, then, have they?”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

“Well, I’ll have none of that in my home, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

“You’re to stay away from my family, as well, I’ll not have you contaminating them.”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

There was a long pause and Harry started to relax, assuming that the barrage of insults was finally over, but Vernon spoke again. “And that ruddy owl has to go, I’ll not have it smelling up the house.”

“I’m not sending Hedwig away!”

He nearly bit his tongue as Vernon slammed on the breaks. The car behind them honked, but Vernon ignored it, turning around to face Harry. “What did you say?”

Harry felt himself shaking slightly and clenched his fists.   “I said I’m not sending Hedwig away.   She won’t be any trouble, I’ll only let her out at night…”

“You’ll not let her out at all!”

He jumped, hating himself for the show of weakness. He was almost seventeen, why was he letting his Uncle get to him? “Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

The car behind them was pressing on the horn continuously and Vernon finally turned back around, pulling the car off to the side of the road and flicking on his emergency lights. Harry felt his stomach clenching painfully. This couldn’t be good. He may have been seventeen, but Vernon had at least a foot in height on him and he was larger, much larger.

“You listen here, boy, the only reason I agreed to let you in my home was because that Headmaster of yours threatened my family if I didn’t.   So until you leave, you will do as I say without question. You will not speak unless we ask you to, you will not leave your room unless we tell you that you can, and you _will_ get rid of that bird. Do I make myself clear?”

Harry wanted to take out his wand and show Vernon exactly what was clear between them, but he couldn’t.   Professor McGonagall had made it very clear that it was illegal to use his magic outside of the school until his birthday. Harry looked at Hedwig sitting on the seat next to him. She was his only link to the wizarding world, without her he was cut off entirely. He wondered if Vernon knew that.

With a heavy heart, he looked back at his uncle, “Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

 

____________________

 

The house was exactly as Harry remembered it, from its neatly trimmed yard, to the wallpaper in the entrance hall. Somehow, Harry had expected that. The Dursleys had always liked things to stay the same, normal, which was why they had always hated Harry.

Before letting Harry out of the car, Vernon had given him further instructions. As he’d outgrown the cupboard, he would be staying in Dudley’s second bedroom (first door on the left at the top of the stairs, in case Harry had forgotten), his trunk however, was staying in the cupboard, locked and secured and if Vernon caught Harry trying to sneak into it, he’d switch those arrangements.  As much as he wanted to protest, Harry couldn’t bring himself to say anything and instead, fingered his wand, which was tucked safely in his back pocket, under his shirt. As long as he had that, he’d be okay, even if he couldn’t use it just now.

It had taken him several minutes to get his trunk out. Seeing as he’d never really had to pack everything that he owned, he’d never realized exactly how much that was. Thank Merlin for triple layered trunks or he never would have fit it all.   Uncle Vernon kept dodging glances around the neighborhood to see if anyone had noticed them.

The moment they were in the door, Vernon grabbed Harry’s arm and yanked him, making him drop his trunk loudly on the tiled entry way.  He barely managed to hold onto Hedwig.   “Ow!”

His small protest was ignored as his Uncle hauled him up the stairs. They’d just made it to the top when Harry saw something standing at the end of the hall. At first, he really wasn’t sure what it was because his glasses had skewed, he just knew it was very large - massive actually, it took up the entire width of the hall.

He reached up and shoved his glasses back on and his mouth fell open in shock. It was Dudley! He’d always been at least twice Harry’s size, but this was ridiculous. He looked like a small whale standing there in his gigantic trousers and button up shirt. Before Harry could stop himself, he blurted out, “You’re huge!”

Dudley’s eyes hardened and Harry had a vivid recollection that Vernon wasn’t the only who had enjoyed hitting him. Oh, hell, why couldn’t he have kept his bloody mouth shut?   Vernon threw open the door and thrust Harry inside, glaring at him.   Harry noted that his neck was turning purple, which was never a good thing with Vernon. In fact, purple generally meant Harry should start dodging.

Instead of swinging at him, however, Vernon pointed a finger and spoke in a stern voice, enunciating each word as if to make sure that Harry heard it. “You will stay here until I come to let you out. Am I understood?”

Harry nodded and was relieved when the door shut and a lock clicked into place. Another lock followed it and another after that and Harry would have had to bite back a laugh if he hadn’t just realized that he had to pee.

Welcome home.

 

____________________

 

“Now, my sweet boy, I want you to count every lash and I don’t want you to hold back any of those pretty tears.”

Severus rolled his eyes as he watched the scene unfolding in front of him. Lucius always had been one for dramatics. The dark haired boy on the floor looked up at Lucius with bright green eyes, imploring him not to do it.   Whipping was one of the only things that could still make the boy beg. It was too bad for him that Lucius had all but outright bought him. The brothel owner had been eager to find a place to hide his Harry Potter look-a-like. Apparently, he had come to the realization that with the ministry cracking down on all illegal and illicit businesses, it would look very bad for him if they were to discover that not only did he run a brothel, but he ran one that encouraged the debauchery of the Boy-Who-Lived.

“Please, master Lucius, please, do… ah!” The whip struck his back.  His head fell forward onto the rug and his eyes closed tightly as he sobbed. “O… One.”

Discreetly, Severus crossed his legs and pretended to be interested in the scene unfolding before him. In truth, he was far more curious as to what Lucius was planning, which was the only reason he had bothered to come at all. If he could get his old friend in a good mood, perhaps he could catch a hint of something.

“Really, Lucius, there must be much more gratifying things that can be done with the child other than scarring his back.”

“Oh, Severus,” Lucius threw his friend a haunted smile and brought the whip down again.

“T… Two!”

“You know I always make sure not to leave any scars.”

Since his return from Azkaban, Severus noticed a great change in Lucius. Where the man had once been an absolute artist in these matters, he now appeared to enjoy only the most brutal, damaging aspects of torture. At least, he did where one dark haired little whore was involved.

“Besides,” Lucius brought it down again and Severus just managed to hold back his cringe at the boy’s stuttering cries, “it’s good practice.”

There was a hint behind that, Severus could almost smell it.   “Practice for what, Lucius?”

Lucius stroked the whip handle down the boy’s back, delighting as the child’s back shuddered under it. “Now, now, Severus, you know I can’t tell you that. Let’s just say that in a few short weeks I won’t need this sorry substitute.”

Severus caught a glimpse of resentment in the boy’s eyes.   It was unfortunately inevitable. He hadn’t known anything other than these men for years.   Severus doubted he even remembered what his parents looked like or his own name anymore. It was bound to become a sore point when he was reminded that he wasn’t even what they really wanted.

What Lucius had said, however, that he wouldn’t need a substitute, had made Severus’s blood run cold. Voldemort had a plan to capture Potter and when he had him, he intended to hand him over to Lucius. Even for a small period of time, that would be… bad.

Lucius brought down the whip again and the boy’s eyes jerked open in surprise. “F… our.”

With another of his haunted smiled, Lucius knelt down and put a finger under the boy’s chin, drawing his face up so that he could see into his eyes. “Just wait, Severus. I’m going to make that little brat pay.”

No, Severus did not envy Harry Potter if Lucius ever got his hands on him.

 

_______________

 

_One week later:_

  
“Boy!”

Harry rolled his eyes and continued to stare at his ceiling, not bothering to answer. He’d been there only a week and in some ways it was like he’d never left. Either Vernon Dursley knew that Dumbledore was dead, or he was abysmally stupid.

“Boy!”

Then again, maybe he just didn’t care, maybe he thought that someone would come spirit him away again. Getting off his bed, he pressed his face to the door to his bedroom, “What?!”

“Get down here.”

Dropping his head, he took a deep breath and yelled back, “The door is locked!”

A moment later the lock clicked open and the Harry found himself staring at his horse necked aunt. “Downstairs now.”

Harry smiled sarcastically and charged down the stairs. The last time his uncle had called him down, it was to blame the broken television on him. The time before that it was to tell him to weed the backyard, after which he had been yelled at for ruining the rose bushes.

“What do you bloody well waaa…” He couldn’t quite finish the word, but he couldn’t get his mouth to stop moving, either. Standing, no leaning in the doorway with a wand extended in a trembling hand was a young man with platinum blond hair and pained gray eyes. Draco.   What was Draco doing on Privet Drive?

Draco’s eyes looked up as Harry stopped on the stairs and his deep sneer lifted into a half smile. “Harry.”   He’d barely whispered it, but somehow Harry could hear the strain of it on his throat.

Before Harry could say anything, Draco’s wand slipped from his fingers and his eyes rolled into his head. Harry jumped down the last three steps and grabbing Draco as he slumped, unconscious, onto the floor.

“Draco?” Harry ignored his uncle’s blustering in favor of looking over his lover. He was pale, too pale and his hands were shaking, even in unconsciousness.   Looking at Draco’s neck, he saw a pale pink line, as if something thin had been wrapped around it. Not good, none of this was good, but how had Draco found him?

Gently, he slipped his arm under Draco’s knees and grunted as he lifted him. Harry hadn’t eaten anything in nearly twenty-four hours and Draco was by no means a feather weight.

He’d taken one step away from the door when a hand fell on his shoulder, stopping him. “Where do you think you’re going? Get him out of here this instant.”

Harry grit his teeth, “He’s hurt.”

“I don’t give a bloody hell if he’s dying, get him out of my home.”

Harry felt anger welling up in his throat, but he had to swallow it down. It wouldn’t do to lose his temper now, he had to get Draco upstairs on a bed so he could look at him.   “I’m taking him upstairs and I’m going to find out what’s wrong with him.”

The hand on his shoulder tightened and Harry winced as the fingers dug into him. “I said get him out. Call one of your little friends if you have to, but he is not staying here.”

“I can’t call anyone because you made me send Hedwig away.   If you hadn’t been such a bloody prick, I’d be…”

A hand slammed into his face, but Harry had seen it coming and managed not to drop Draco, though he did stumble several steps. Glaring at his Uncle, he straightened himself.  “Thank you, Uncle Vernon.”

Something in his tone must have stunned his relatives, because no one stopped him as he carried Draco up the stairs and into his room, depositing him carefully on the bed. He dug his wand out from under his pillow and cast a locking charm on the door just as Uncle Vernon began trying to force it open. Screw the Ministry, he’d have to use magic to help Draco anyway.

The shaking had stopped, but the moment that Harry touched him, just a light stroke of a finger over his waxen face, it started again, violently.   God, what was wrong with him? As gently as he could manage, Harry unbuttoned the cloak and pulled it aside.

Draco’s jumper was torn at the arms, like someone had ripped them and the knees of his trousers were shredded, his exposed knees bloody. Harry waved his wand at the door and heard his relatives shriek as a large bowl leapt from the cupboard downstairs, filling itself in the sink before joining two dishtowels to make its way up the stairs and coming through the door that opened just long enough to let them in and closing tightly, locking again before Vernon, who had been too shocked by the floating bowls and magically opening door to move, had had a chance to get in.  The second they had landed at Harry’s side, he grabbed the towel and wet it, gently blotting it against Draco’s knees to wipe up the worst of the blood. The other towel wet and folded itself, setting on Draco’s forehead. The shaking slowed and eventually stopped, much to Harry’s relief.

He thought maybe he knew what it was, but he hoped he was wrong. After the Triwizard Tournament, Harry remembered that his nerves had been so raw from the Cruciatus curse that if he didn’t actively pay attention to it, he’d start shaking.

Draco mumbled something under his breath, but Harry couldn’t understand it. Carefully, he removed Draco’s cloak and his jumper. His arms were bruised and there were crescent shaped cuts on them.  He looked at the delicate hands and saw that at least one nail had broken off; the others had blood under them.

“Harry.” Harry looked up sharply and saw Draco’s eyes open, looking at him with a dull expression.

Harry forced himself to smile, even though he knew that it looked more like a grimace. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone poured liquid fire through my veins.”

Definitely the Cruciatus. “What happened?”

Draco shook his head, “I failed him. He punished me. Father took me home. I don’t remember, but I managed to get away. House elves gave me something. ‘M tired.” His eyes closed again.

He wasn’t exactly sure how Draco had managed to find him, but he didn’t really have time for that at the moment. The first thing he had to do was find out what they had given him. Was it poison or was it potion and if that was the case, it could be anything. In fact, this whole thing could be some kind of trap or it could be another way of torturing him by giving him Draco so that he could watch him die. “Draco, come on, not yet, what’d they give you? Draco, what did the house elves give you?”

Draco’s closed eyes furrowed. “Something... purple. Made me cold, tasted funny, like… like chocolate and earwax. Said it would make me groggy.”

Purple, made him cold, tasted like chocolate and earwax. Harry sat back on the floor in relief and let Draco fall back into a fitful sleep. He knew that potion, it was the same thing Madame Pomfrey had given him to help repair whatever damage the Cruciatus curse had done to his nerves.

Closing his eyes as well, Harry rested his head on the bed next to Draco’s hand and took deep breaths, battling against the warring sides of his brain.   He’d been so worried about Draco ever since he’d watched that traitorous bastard drag him off. He’d been terrified that Voldemort would torture him, or kill him, or worse, use him to get to Harry, because Harry had known without a doubt that he would walk willingly into that trap if it would spare Draco anything.

His uncle was still banging on his door and Harry lazily cast a silencing charm in its direction. Until now, he’d been too concerned with Draco to even notice it, really, but Draco was safe now. He was hurt, but he was safe. That was all that mattered.

 

______________

 

“Harry!”

Harry thought he heard someone calling his name, but he couldn’t respond. He was staring at Dumbledore’s dead body and there couldn’t be anything more important than that.

“Harry!”

Well, nothing more important except maybe Draco who was standing next to Snape, too afraid to move away from the traitorous bastard. Draco who was supposed to love him, not keep this kind of thing from him.

“Harry!”

Something cold hit his head and Harry’s jerked up sharply, his eyes wide and dull. “Wha…”   Slowly, the focus came back to them and he saw Draco sitting up on the bed, looking down at him with a mix of concern and annoyance.   “I’ve been trying to wake you for the past five minutes.”

Before Draco could say anything else, Harry practically dove at him, pressing him back against the bed with urgent gentleness. “Oh, god…” Harry saw Draco wince and nearly winced himself. “Are you okay?   I was really worried. You were so hurt and I didn’t know what to do, I…”

Draco chuckled, albeit with more than a little pain behind the gesture. “Harry, it’s okay, I’m about as good as I can be, considering.”

With a shaky smile of his own, Harry sat up and stretched, groaning. “Do you want… well, all I have is water, really. At least, until we can get a hold of someone, or until the Dursley’s decide to be generous.” Harry scoffed at the mere idea and started to stand up, wincing as his ankles popped and the feeling started to return to his feet.

“Water would be good.”

Harry nodded and went to the door, dropping the silencing charm and putting his ear to it for a moment before turning the handle and opening it. The hall outside was pitch black and Harry thanked whatever there was left to thank in the world that the Dursley’s had apparently gone to sleep for the night. He looked back, his smile more confident.   “I’ll be right back.”

He crept down the stairs and into the kitchen, quickly filling a glass with water before heading back up the stairs. He cringed at every creek on the stairs, but his relatives were fast asleep and didn’t come to intercept him as he slipped back into his room, closing the door behind him.

“Here, drink up; I’ll go get more if I need to.”

Draco shook his head, taking a few sips, before setting the glass down. “I’m still tired.”

“It’s the potion. It makes you sleep while it works. To be honest, I didn’t expect you to wake up for another few hours at least.”

“My head does feel a bit heavy.” Draco laid back down on the pillow, looking at Harry sleepily. With a possessive gesture, Draco wrapped one of his hands around Harry’s wrist. “Don’t go, okay?”

“Get some sleep, Draco, I’m not going anywhere.”

 

______________

 

Harry winced as his uncle’s spit flew into his face.

“I will not tolerate having another of your kind in this house!   Contact one of your people and get him out of here.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’ve told you before, Uncle Vernon, I can’t very well contact anyone with Hedwig gone.”

“Don’t give me your cheek, boy.”

“I’m not giving you cheek, I’m bloody well giving you the facts! No Hedwig, no contact.”

The side of his face exploded in pain and Harry stumbled back with the force. His eyes watered as he pressed his hand to his inflamed cheek. Bloody hell, at this rate he was going to be all bruises by the time they came to get him. “Do not talk back to me!”

With a deep breath, Harry managed to rein in his temper. “Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

“Get back up those stairs and I do not expect to see you for the rest of the day.”

Before he could bite his tongue, the words, “You won’t have to worry about that, _Uncle_ ,” slipped out.   Dodging another blow, Harry ran up the stairs and slammed the door shut behind him, momentarily forgetting that he was trying not to wake up Draco, who was still sleeping soundly, sprawled out on the small bed with one leg falling off the side.

It was strange to have Draco here. For that matter, it was strange for Harry to be here. The Dursley’s were worse in some ways and better in others.   They still hated him, they still barely fed him, his uncle had gotten more violent, but Harry supposed that was because no one had come to stop it; on the other hand, Dudley and his aunt seemed perfectly happy to ignore his very existence, he didn’t have to dodge flying skillets and he didn’t have to play Harry Hunting with his cousin.

Draco stirred on the bed, pulling his leg up and mumbling to himself in his sleep. The sun filtered through the little curtain over the window and bathed Draco in faint light. With his blonde hair and pale skin, he looked kind of like an angel.

Draco’s eyes opened slowly and he looked dazedly at Harry, his nose scrunched up. “Harry?”   He sat half up, groaning, “What happened to your face?”

A very nosey angel.

Harry pretended he hadn’t heard the question.  “How are you feeling?”

Draco moved his head around experimentally and pushed himself up.   “Well, I can think with both halves of my brain and I believe I may have proper control over all my limbs. Overall, I’d say that’s an improvement.”

With a chuckle, Harry sat next to him on the bed. “Good. Look, I need to ask a few questions. Do you remember how you got here last night?”

“I really don’t remember anything. Voldemort tortured me, father took me home and after that… after that it’s a blank until I woke up last night. Actually, last night isn’t all that clear either.” Draco leaned forward, reaching a hand out to touch Harry’s cheek, pulling away when Harry flinch. “What did you say happened to your face?”

Harry stood back up and stepped away from the bed tensely.  “Nothing. Look, are you hungry?   I can’t guarantee anything, but maybe I could sneak something…”

“Are you trying to change the subject?”

“No.” Harry frowned, “Well, yes, but there really isn’t anything you can do anyway, so drop it.”

Draco narrowed his eyes speculatively. Harry knew what it looked like, he knew everything was obvious by the shape and newness of the bright red mark marring his cheek and by his own shifting, nervous posture. “Did someone hit you?”

“No.” Looking around, Harry sighed, “Yes, but like I said, there isn’t anything you can do, so leave it alone.”

“Why don’t you just…”

“I said leave it!”

Draco scowled, but the expression quickly turned to one of concern. “I didn’t mean to upset you, it’s just that there are people watching over you, aren’t there? They wouldn’t have sent you back here without providing some kind of protection.” Harry felt immediately guilty for his outburst. Sure it wasn’t the first time he’d yelled at Draco, but usually the blonde prat had done something to deserve it.

Harry moved his hand over his face, carefully arranging his annoyed features into a much softer expression. He knew Draco was only trying to help him and losing his temper wasn’t going to do any good. It was just that the thought of Dumbledore made him shake with anger - anger at Dumbledore for putting him in this situation, but also anger at himself for being angry with Dumbledore in the first place. The Headmaster would never have put Harry back here if he could have helped it, he loved Harry – _had_ loved Harry. It just wasn’t fair, but then none of it had ever been fair.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. Look, in less than three weeks the Order is going to come get me and take me to the Weasley’s and I’ll never have to come back here again.” Harry felt the irony of that statement weigh heavily on him. Hadn’t Draco said the same thing to him at some point when they’d talked about Lucius’s canings?

Draco apparently thought the same thing, because he gave a resigned sigh and melted against the bed. “What do we do until then?”

Harry visibly relaxed, “Dodge Uncle Vernon and hope they give us enough to eat.”

The sound of a door closing downstairs caught Harry’s attention and he looked out his window, watching Uncle Vernon get into his car with Dudley.   He looked back with a devilish smile, “You hungry?”

Five minutes later Harry came back up the stairs with two sandwiches and two large glasses of water. Draco took one and looked at it dubiously. “What is it?”

“Ham.”

“No cheese?”

“Dudley likes cheese, he doesn’t like ham, just be glad she let us use the bread.”

Draco bit into it and chewed the dry meal with distaste, but he couldn’t deny the sounds his stomach was making. Harry smiled at him. “After the Tournament, when I took that potion like you did, I didn’t realize how hungry I was until after I started to eat.” Harry passed half of his sandwich to Draco.   "Go ahead."

“Aren’t you hungry, too?”

Harry shrugged, “Not as hungry as you, I’d wager.   Besides, I’m used to it.”

Reluctantly, Draco took the other half a sandwich. They ate silently while Harry tried to remember everything Madame Pomfrey had always said about people recovering from illnesses.

_“You look pale, come sit near the window, the fresh air will do you good.”_

“Fresh air.”

Draco stopped mid-bite and stared at Harry’s sudden outburst.   “Excuse me?”

“Fresh air. Madame Pomfrey is always going on about fresh air being good for you. Finish that and I’ll help you downstairs.”

“What about your uncle?”

“Dudley was going on about Uncle Vernon taking him to a movie this afternoon. I think they’ll be gone all day and Aunt Petunia won’t mind us. She probably won’t even acknowledge us.”

“Lovely family you have here.”

Harry smiled ruefully, “Not even Snape was this bad and that’s saying something.”

Swallowing the last of his sandwich, Draco pushed himself to his feet, shaking Harry off when he rushed forward to help. “I’m fine, I can walk on my own.”

Harry shook his head, taking Draco’s arm forcefully. “I couldn’t walk straight for nearly two days and I’m guessing I wasn’t put through even half of what you were.” He looked at Draco sideways, “The only one who’ll see us is my aunt and if it really means that much to you, we’ll tell her it’s about sex.”

Draco laughed, and instantly doubled slightly, holding his cramping side. “How long did you say it took you to recover?”

“About three days in the infirmary with Pomfrey fussing over me every minute.”

“How long do you think it’ll take me?”

“At least four, maybe five days, with me fussing over you every minute.”

It was hard to read the odd look that passed over Draco’s face, but if Harry had to put a name to it, he would have said it was curious.

 

_______________

 

Draco recovered remarkably quickly, although he did insist on staying in bed, letting Harry wait on him hand and foot. As much as Harry wanted to complain, however, he was glad to have someone else there. The only problem with it being Draco was that while there was a great many things Draco and he could do together, very few of them were things Harry would have wanted his relatives walking in on.

Unfortunately, Draco did not share Harry’s reservations about privacy, or the fact that Uncle Vernon had removed the inside locks on the door, claiming that the two of them could be up to all sorts of funny witchcraft in the room. All Draco cared about was snogging. Well, to be fair, he cared about groping, as well. So, Harry spent a great deal of time either dodging his Uncle’s blows or defending what little honor he had.

“Draco, not right now, they’re…”

“Entertaining, I know. We’ll be quiet.”

Harry tried to push Draco off him unsuccessfully. “You’re never quiet!”

Draco pulled back for a moment and look at Harry questioningly for a moment before shrugging. “I suppose not, so you’d best shut me up.”

Before Harry could protest further, Draco was kissing him again, demanding entrance to his mouth with his tongue. As much as Harry wanted to complain, he rather liked Draco’s tongue, so he gave in and let the other boy continue to snog him silly. He wasn’t really sure why he bothered fending Draco off in the first place; he loved Draco, as much as it pained him to admit it sometimes, but something…

“Spread your legs for me.”

With a mumble of agreement, Harry complied and moaned as Draco settled against him like a puzzle, pressing their cock’s together. It was the ordering around that really got to him. Maybe it was that he’d been all but kicked out of his home and left for dead on Harry’s doorstep, but Draco had become very forceful in what he wanted.

The only problem was that Harry couldn’t bring himself to complain, because in the end, he didn’t so much mind being ordered around as long as it led to _this_. “Draco.”

Draco pulled back, one of his hands in Harry’s hair, the other still enthusiastically exploring his hip and abdomen. “What?”

“I want to fuck you.”

His hand stopped altogether, “Excuse me?”

Harry delved his hand into the back of Draco’s trousers, squeezing his arse suggestively. “I want to bury my cock in your arse while my Uncle tells horrible jokes about Japanese golfers. I want to make you scream so loud the Wittington’s think someone’s being sacrificed up here. I want…”

“I thought you wanted to keep this quiet.”

“Bugger quiet, I want you.”

Draco chuckled and nipped the side of Harry’s neck. “Now, now, Harry love, I told you we were going to be quiet and I’m afraid I have to keep my promises.” He sank his teeth into Harry’s skin and Harry had to bite his lip as Draco’s pressed his hips down, rubbing his erection against Harry’s.

“Don’t spoil your lip.”

Harry almost managed to chuckle, but Draco chose that moment to thrust forward, undulating his hips and he ending up moaning loudly instead. Draco pulled away from his neck, licking the sensitive skin and then sucking on it, drawing the blood up to the surface in pale flecks.

Even though the bump and grind reminded Harry of when they’d first begun to fool around, he found himself excited by it. There was a deliberation about Draco’s movements that had never been there. Where Draco had always taken sex with desperate urgency before, now he seemed confident, sure of himself.   Harry wasn’t sure what had brought on the change, but he wasn’t going to start complaining.

His orgasm washed over him and when he cried out, just a little, Draco bit down on his neck again, pulling more and louder noises from Harry’s throat. With a few controlled grunts, Draco came as well and collapsed on top of Harry.

They lay there for several moments, panting. Harry stared at the top of Draco’s blonde hair and suddenly found the need to tell him how grateful he was that Draco was there, even if it might possibly be a trap that Draco was unwittingly setting. He had just opened his mouth to say all this, when the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs jarred him from his revelry. “Draco, get off.”

“Already did.” Followed by a derisive little chuckle that meant Draco thought he was being particularly clever.

“No, you great prat, get off of me.”

He'd just managed to shove Draco off the bed and onto the floor with a loud thump and a disgruntled start, when the door to his bedroom flew open.   “What the bloody hell is going on up here?”

Harry could feel his face going bright pink. “Nothing, Uncle Vernon. We were just… doing homework.”

Draco huffed from the floor and stood up, wiping off his backside.   “As if it’s any of your business what we’re doing.” Draco still hadn’t looked up and so he missed Vernon Dursley’s face beginning to turn that dangerous shade of puce. “I’ll tell you what we were doing. We were sacrificing virgin squirrels to the Heathen gods of Warfare. Of course, now that you’ve interrupted us we’ll have to start all over again. …what?”

He’d looked up and finally seen what Harry had been watching with growing dread. Uncle Vernon’s face was pinched tight and his pallor was very close to purple. Harry thought he might actually have a heart attack if he didn’t calm himself soon, which would have been something of a relief if he thought about it.

Draco crossed his arms over his chest defiantly and Harry stood up, standing in front of him in case Vernon decided to attack. After a minute, Draco relented.  “We weren’t doing anything, Mr. Dursley, just homework.”

With a wagging finger, Vernon backed out of the room. “For all I know, sacrifices is just the kind of homework you get from that freaky little school of yours and I’ll have none of it in my house.”

Harry took a deep, calming breath, “Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

“And if I hear one more noise, you’ll have no more meals for the rest of the week.”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

Vernon looked at Draco who sighed, but dropped his arms.  “Yes, Mr. Dursley,” although not in any particularly respectful manner. Vernon closed the door and locked it, then apparently thought better of it and reopened the door, glaring at the boys before storming off.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Draco scathingly.   “You know how I want to _live_ through this summer, Draco? Well, you might want to consider that before you mouth off to my uncle again.”

Before Draco could protest, Harry grabbed a torn and tattered book from an abandoned corner of the room and laid down on the bed. “Oh, and you can forget about sex for the next two weeks.”

“What?!”

Harry refused to look up from his book. “You’re the one who mentioned virgin sacrifices. I know the Dursley’s, they won’t be giving us anymore privacy. We’ll be lucky if they let us shut the door to use the privy.”

Draco’s mouth worked, but couldn’t seem to get anything out for several minutes. “But, I… How do you know? You haven’t lived them since you were eight-years-old. People change with time…”

“Yes, and with the Dursleys that means they get worse.”   Harry looked over the edge of his book, his face determinedly blank. “When I was six, my aunt came in and saw me washing myself… down there. She decided it was inappropriate and for the next few months I wasn’t permitted to take a wiz without her standing outside the door, making sure I wasn’t doing any extra touching. So, I hope you enjoyed that, because it’s the last we’re getting for a while.”

“But…”

With a rye grin, Harry shrugged.  “If it’s any consolation, I enjoyed it.”

 

__________________

 

 

This was really degrading, not to mention Harry wasn’t sure how much longer Draco was going to be willing to put up with it. “Potter, what is taking so long?”

Harry put a finger to his lips and continued to look out the door of the little tool shed anxiously. “There.” Harry turned to face him, smiling impishly.   “They’ve sat down to watch the tellie and they’ll be busy for hours.”

“Even that nosey aunt of yours?”

With a nod, Harry leaned against Draco and kissed him deeply.   “It’s some program that spreads rumors about famous people. Aunt Petunia loves rumors.”

Draco kissed back, slipping his hand under Harry’s shirt and splaying his fingers over the warm, bare skin underneath. “Do you think she’s figured anything out? About us, I mean.”

Harry ran his tongue over Draco’s lips, “She can’t have.” He put his hand over Draco’s and used it to move the hand inside the back of his trousers. “We haven’t done anything. Two bloody weeks of having you in the same room and I haven’t been able to so much as touch you. It’s driving me mad.”

As if to prove his point, Harry drove his hips into Draco’s. Draco moaned into Harry’s mouth as the erection pressed against his own. “What’s driving you mad is that you’re a pervy, teenage boy who hasn’t had sex in weeks. Besides, it’s all you’re fault, I’ve got nothing to do with it.”

“Have to. Now shut up and snog me.”

Being the gentleman that he was, Draco could hardly refuse the request. He sank his hand further into the back of Harry’s trousers, squeezing his arse cheeks, while his other hand gripped Harry’s neck possessively.

The past few weeks had been absolute torture. Vernon still demanded that Draco be sent away at least once a day and Harry had to continue reminding him that it was his own fault that couldn’t be managed. The only thing that had changed was that Harry had become very good at dodging the blows. Currently, he only had one faded bruise on his cheek and his split lip was almost entirely healed. In fact, unless one were to look closely, it almost appeared as if it had just been bitten very vigorously in one spot.

Harry’s hands, which had been very busy working Draco’s hair into an undignified mess, moved their efforts south, tugging at the button of Draco’s trousers. Harry felt Draco’s legs shake as Harry’s hand wrapped around his neglected cock.

“’M gonna cum, Harry.”

Harry chuckled in his ear and bit his lobe lightly. “Go ahead then, and I’ll get on my knees and make you hard again.”

He pulled Harry back into a kiss, his body tensing as he came to edge of orgasm and…

“Harry, are you in here?”

Harry pulled away so fast that Draco, who still had his hand firmly entrenched in the back of Harry’s trousers, fell forward onto his knees. He half choked on a desperate sob and Harry felt a slight twinge of sympathy. He had to have been so bloody close. Looking up, Harry opened his mouth to somehow explain this to the horse faced bint, except it wasn’t Harry’s Aunt standing in the door, it was a young woman with bright purple hair and a mousy face, wearing bright blue robes and faded jeans.

“Oh, god, Tonks!”

Draco looked at Harry, who was staring, open mouthed in shock at the woman, who was staring right back. There really was no question as to what they had been doing, not when Harry’s trousers were pulled low on his hips, his shirt was untucked and wrinkled, his lips were swollen and red, and his hair was even more disorderly than usual.

Draco stood up, fully aware that he was probably in worse shape than Harry as he zipped up his trousers. “Tonks? As in the one who’s sha…”

Harry looked at Draco sharply, cutting him off.  “Draco, this is Tonks. Tonks, Draco.”

Her shocked silence was wiped away by a sneer, “Malfoy.   What the bloody hell is he doing here? We brought you here to keep you safe, Harry.”

Before Harry could say anything, Draco stepped forward, grabbing the inside handle of the door. “He is safe and I’m getting laid, for the first time in weeks, I might add. We’ll continue this conversation later.”

He made to close the door, but Harry stuck his foot in the way.   “Draco, stop it.”

Groaning in frustration, Draco let go of the door and followed Harry out of the shed. The Dursley’s were all peering out the window and by the way his Aunt and Uncle’s faces were flushed with anger, Harry gathered that they’d figured out what was going on in their tool shed. Thank Merlin he never had to come back here again.   At least, he hoped.

“Tonks, please tell me you’ve come to get me and that you are taking me far, far away from here.”

She stopped eyeing Draco suspiciously and looked at Harry.   “Of course, I have. Harry, what happened to your face?”

He backed away quickly as she reached up to touch him, quickly changing the subject. “Not to say I’m not grateful, but what are you doing here, anyway?” He spared another glance at his family in the window. “I wasn’t expecting you for another two days.”

Tonks raised one eyebrow and smirked.   “I noticed. The wedding is the day after your birthday and since we’ve finished with all the security measures, we thought you might like to come a little early.”

Draco coughed, “He does,” into his hand and Harry looked mortified.

He was just about to turn to yell at Malfoy when another familiar voice rang out over the small backyard. “Tonks, did you find him?”

She looked over her shoulder at Kingsley Shaklebolt, who had just stepped out the back door. “Yes!”

He stopped when he saw Draco, “What’s _he_ doing here?”

Tonks waved her hands, as if to say she had no idea and looked back at them expectantly, crossing her arms over her chest. Harry looked from her to Kingsley, finally understanding exactly what a ‘deer caught in the headlights’ must feel like. “I’ll just go inside and get my stuff, then.”

Before anyone could say otherwise, Harry had darted past both Tonks and Kingsley and inside the house, safe from further interrogation at the moment.   “Boy, what the bloody hell were you doing in my tool shed?”

 _Okay_ , Harry revised, _safe from interrogation by Tonks and Kingsley_. “Nothing, Uncle Vernon.” He tried to move past Vernon, but the large man stepped in front of him and stopped his escape. “I have to go upstairs and get my stuff.”

He dodged left, but instead of trying to block his path, his uncle grabbed his arm, holding it tightly when Harry tried to wrench it away. “You’re not going anywhere until you explain to me what you and that poncy little blonde were doing in _my_ tool shed.”

“I already told you, nothing, Uncle Vernon.”

“The same nothing that’s been going on under my very roof for the past two weeks?” His eyes narrowed,   “Is that what the two of you were doing in your room while I was having my dinner party?”

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. “N… no. Of course not, we were doing homework, or…”

“Or nothing,” Vernon’s grip tightened.

“Who cares what I was doing in my room during your stupid dinner party? You’ve wanted me out of your house since the moment I stepped into it, well now’s your chance!   They’re here to take me away and I’ll never disgrace your doorstep again, just let me go get my stuff and I’ll be on my way.”

Vernon clenched his fist and raised his arm, his face twisted in anger. Harry had only one thought. _Not with Tonks and Kingsley here, please, not with them watching._ He felt his chest tightened and for a split second, everything went white.   The next moment his arm was hanging limply at his side and his uncle was no long standing in front of him.

He looked around and a strange noise drew his gaze down.   Glaring up at him with small, beady black eyes was a large… pig. A boar really, black and white with an ugly pink nose and there was no mistaking that it was his uncle, none at all. Well, Vernon Dursley to giant boar really wasn’t much of a change.

“Oh, god, I am so sorry.”

He hadn’t had a burst of wild magic in years, not since he’d first come to Hogwarts and Dumbledore had said he truly wished that Professor Snape would wear more color. Harry had wanted to please him so badly that the next thing he knew Snape’s robes were pink. After that Dumbledore had taken great care to teach Harry how to control his emotions and he’d done such a good job of it. He hadn’t had a single slip, he’d always managed to get himself under control before it got that far. Well, until now…

His uncle snorted at him and his knelt down, “I… I’m sorry, I’ll fix it. I just need to get my wand…”   Apparently that had been wrong thing to say, because Uncle Vernon threw up his head, hitting Harry in the chin and knocking the boy onto his arse as he charge past him and out the back door. Oh god. He’d turned his uncle into a boar and now he was in the back yard. He heard some shouting and then the fence crash open.  Oh, god.

Harry looked up and saw Draco run in, followed by Kingsley and Tonks. He stared up, wide eyed and unable to form a thought. Kingsley pushed past Draco and knelt down in front of Harry. “Are you okay?”

Slowly, Harry nodded. “I didn’t mean to. He was yelling at me and he…” Harry stopped himself and cast a significant glance at Draco.   “The next thing I knew he was a boar and then he ran out. I’m going to be in so much trouble for this.”

Tonks chuckled and came forward, rubbing her hand through Harry’s messy hair. “I doubt it.   The Ministry has much more to worry about right now than underage magic. You go and get your stuff together; me and Kingsley will hunt down your darling uncle.” She started to turn around and then stopped, giving Draco a warning look. “Anything happens to him while we’re gone and I’ll do things to you that make the Cruciatus Curse look kind.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile, especially when Draco took a step back from her as she went past him and out the front door. Standing up, Harry looked at his lover. Draco’s face was pale and he was staring at the open door with apprehension. “Draco, she didn’t mean it.”

Draco looked over, “I knew that.” When Harry looked skeptical, Draco squared his shoulders.  “Besides, I can defend myself.”

Harry nodded, “Sure, Draco. Come on, give me a hand upstairs.”

“A hand?!” Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I most certainly will not ‘give you a hand.’ I am a Malfoy.   Malfoys do not give people hands, they…”

Harry turned around, all traces of humor gone. “Then stay downstairs for all I care.” Storming up, Harry slammed his door shut and began throwing the few items that he had been allowed to keep into a pile in the middle of his room.

What was wrong with Draco? He hadn’t pulled that Malfoy trash in years. Besides, he’d helped Harry plenty of times. Sure, he’d complained about it a lot and well, more often than not, he hadn’t really helped so much as watched Harry do all the work, smirking and making snide remarks. Stopped in mid throw, Harry looked at the closed door and sighed. Never mind, there wasn’t anything wrong with Draco, maybe the problem was Harry himself.

Throwing the sweater down, Harry took one last look around the room and banished the pile to his trunk in the cupboard. It probably _was_ him. He was upset about Dumbledore and Snape, and he’d been grouchy about it all summer. Every time he slept, he saw Dumbledore die and he wondered over and over what he could have done to make it turn out different. Worse yet, was that he didn’t really think there was anything.

He sniffed and felt his eyes watering. He was not going to cry. He needed a distraction. Draco’s voice filtered up the stairs and through his open door,   “Harry, what’s taking so long?”

Draco, he needed Draco. Storming down the stairs, he threw a stunned Draco against the wall and kissed him ferociously, shoving his tongue down Draco’s throat before the blond could protest. The tightness of his chest receded and he deepened the kiss, pressed his body flush against Draco’s and wishing he could get closer.

Cough. “Well, this is really awkward. For a second time.”

Harry pulled back, wiping his mouth and grinning sheepishly at Tonks, who was standing in the doorway, blushing brightly. With a shrug, he went to the cupboard, opened then door and heaved out his trunk. “I’m ready.”

Kingsley came in and stopped, blinking at them in confusion - Harry, standing next to his trunk, looking guilty; Draco, leaning against the wall, flattening his hair and clothes; Tonks looking anywhere but the two boys in the room. “Did I miss something again?”

When no one answered, he gave an annoyed shake of his head and flicked his wand at Harry’s trunk, sending it ahead of them. “Okay, well, if no one wants to tell me anything, then I suppose we should go ahead and leave.”

Draco fell in step behind Harry, as he followed Tonks and Kingsley out the door. The walked down the path and onto the sidewalk. There were several other Auror’s waiting at the end of the street and Harry looked at Draco, who had shoved his hands in his trousers nervously.

He hadn’t really thought about it before, but perhaps this was harder for Draco than he thought. He was walking into territory where everyone assumed he was the enemy and that couldn’t be easy. Falling back, he slipped his arm into Draco’s. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”

“I know.” Draco looked at him, a funny sort of smile on his face and Harry felt himself falter. Draco had never smiled at him like that. Before Harry could say anything, Draco took his arm away from Harry and cupped his face. His eyes were different. How could he not have noticed it before? Draco’s eyes were still grey, they were still pale and stormy, but they were also more confident than they had ever been before as they stared at Harry.

The hand on his face moved to the back of his head and tightened.  “Everything’s going to be just fine.” Draco other hand grabbed Harry’s and something hard and cold pressed into his palm. He felt a familiar, sickening tug at his navel and the world melted around him, everything except those cold, calculating eyes.

 

__________________

 

“Are you finished?”

Snape’s eye twitched, but he refused to look up and dignify that question with a response yet again.

“I’m bored. I’ve nothing to do and I’ve been locked up here for a month. I want to go and see Harry. Why couldn’t I have stayed with him? I’m sure it would have been just as safe.”

Snape closed his eyes and took a very deep breath before opening them again, still refusing to look up.

“Are you even listening to me?”

After he had killed Dumbledore, Snape had wanted a great many things. He had wanted to lock himself away for eternity or, better yet, blast himself into the nether world and be done with all the sodding mess he’d dealt with his entire life and that wasn’t to say that Snape was given to flights of drama, but he’d just killed the only man that he had ever looked up to - the one man that had protected him and trusted him and believed in him and if there was one thing that was going to send him over the edge, it might as well be that. However, suicide, no matter how tempting, was not an option. He had done all that because Dumbledore wanted to ensure that he would be around to protect Potter, so be around he must. Not that he had to be happy about it.

“Good gods, but you’re boring. Don’t you ever want to do anything besides sit there and read? You’re worse than Harry. In fact, the two of you would make a marvelous couple, sitting in chairs and reading all day.”

Snape closed his eyes again and counted to ten. Potter had not been the only person he was supposed to protect.   There had also been Draco. The plan had been laid out for him and once the deed had been done, everything else had gone easily. Take Draco somewhere safe for a few hours. Go to the Dark Lord, tell him that the boy escaped from him, accept punishment, and then ask that he be granted a favor for having killed Dumbledore.

_“My lord, I ask that you allow me some respite from that twitchy little rat you’ve installed in my home.”_

_Voldemort had nearly smiled, but it had been a placating, ugly thing. “Pettigrew, my dear Severus? Whatever has he done?”_

_“Nothing, my lord, I simply value my privacy.”_

It was such a little thing to ask for having done such a great task and as Severus had predicted, it was granted without further question and with Pettigrew gone, he had retrieved Draco and brought him back to the moderate safety of his home. That was when it had begun.

_“What is that smell? It smells like… like dust. I didn’t know dust had a smell. Dear Merlin, this place is filthy! You can’t possibly expect me to stay here. I’ll choke to death on the air, it’s positively rancid.”_

_“You call this food? This bread is like a rock and what is this… peanut butter? What’s peanut butter and why would anyone want to eat it? There’s absolutely no texture whatsoever and it’s sticking to the roof of my mouth. Don’t you have anything palatable?”_

_“You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m to sleep in here? It smells like a wet rat and these sheets are filthy, when was the last time they were washed?   Not to mention the state of that quilt.   I’ll freeze to death before the end of the week.”_

At Hogwarts and at Malfoy manor, everything had always been taken care of by the house elves. They had cooked dinner, they had cleaned his quarters, they had made sure that everything was in the most pristine of conditions and Snape had not, until the very moment Draco walked into his home, realized exactly how spoiled the boy was.

“Maybe I should redecorate. A little color would really brighten this place up. Mother was always changing the color of the walls and I think I remember the spell for it. I think maybe pastel pink or maybe something in a baby blue…”

Snape looked up sharply, just managing to restrain himself from throwing the volume he was holding at the boy laying sprawled out on his floor. “I will thank you to keep your spells off my walls.”

Draco pouted, “I thought you weren’t listening. Besides, with your furnishings, I’d hardly go pastel. If anything, I’d do a sage green.”

“You will do nothing.”

Draco sat up and swiveled so that he was facing Snape. “I’m hungry.”

“Fix yourself something, then. There’s plenty to eat in the kitchen.”

“There isn’t plenty, there’s peanut butter, stale biscuits, and some tins in the cupboard that have been there for so long the labels have worn off. I want food, Snape.   Real food and I want clean clothes, too.”

“You have clean clothes.”

Draco glared, “No, I have the same clothes I’ve been wearing every day for a month, they’ve just been scowered until they turned gray.”

At least Potter had been quiet, in fact, most days when it was just Potter and Severus in the dungeons, Severus had often forgotten the boy was even there. Come to think of it, Potter really did only get into trouble when Draco was around. Well, then and during the school year, but Snape did grudgingly agree that more often than not, trouble found him, he was just too curious to let it lay.

“Furthermore, I will have you know that my socks have…”

“If you can not keep your mouth closed for five bloody minutes, I will be forced to lock you in a closet and leave you there for the remainder of your stay.”

Draco closed his mouth at the sudden outburst and Snape wondered, for the briefest of moments, if perhaps he had finally succeeded in intimidating the boy into silence.  Then Draco opened his mouth again. “How long would that be?”

Snape took a steadying breath and looked back down at the book, trying to ignore the whining boy, who had thrown himself onto his back on the floor once again, because he refused to sit on the dusty, moth-eaten furniture.

“This isn’t fair, you have to tell me or I’ll simply burst. How much longer do I have endure this… this hell? You’ve been hinting that it won’t be long for the past two weeks. Well, I’ve got news for you, two weeks is a bloody long ti…”

His rant was interrupted (thank, god) by a knock on Snape’s front door. “Severus, open the door this instant!”

Oh, bloody hell, it was Lucius. Standing up, he took Draco by the arm and dragged him across the small living room to one of the walls covered in books. Moving several large volumes aside, he grasped a handle and opened a door to a small coat closet behind.

Draco looked at him incredulously. “I didn’t know this was here!”

Snape scowled, because glaring didn’t work on the boy.   “There are a great many things you do not know. Now close your mouth and keep quiet.”

Without another word, he closed the door and cast a silencing charm on it before heading towards the booming sounds of Lucius' knocking. Giving his robes a quick straighten, he slipped an annoyed expression onto his face (not all that hard to do, considering) and opened the door. “What the hell are you…”

He stopped abruptly as he saw what was standing in front of him. Dark, messy hair, wide, bright green eyes, far too pale skin, and bony hands sticking out of a too-big jumper.   It was the little whore. “What is this?”

Lucius grinned, “I need someone to take care of my pet here for a few days.”

The boy’s head was tilted towards the ground, but his eyes were staring up at Snape through his lashes, apprehensive. “Really, Lucius, you have so much fun with him, I can’t imagine why you would want to relinquish custody, even for a short time...”

The grin turned feral and Lucius licked the side of the boy’s neck. Even after years of abuse the child still flinched at contact. “Let’s just say that I have my hands full taking care of the real thing. Besides, Severus, you always did say that you preferred a more private setting for your intimate affairs and you could hardly get more private than your own home. Consider it a gift.”

He had Potter. Potter had been captured and he was at Malfoy Manor, or at least under Lucius’ care.   This was bad. The thought flashed across his mind even as Lucius pressed the boy forward and he took each step with shaky legs, sinking to his knees in front of Severus and keeping his head respectfully bowed. This was ridiculous and yet… and yet he’d never had such a blatant opportunity to rescue the child from the never-ending nightmare. Not to mention that if he didn’t accept, it might look suspicious and if he were going to save Potter from whatever fate Lucius had in store, he would need the man’s trust. Good god, if he weren’t careful, his hero complex would rival even Potter’s. Perhaps the sorting hat was right - he really should have been in Gryffindor.

To Severus silence, Lucius sighed and crossed his arms over his chest in obvious annoyance.   “Oh, fine, Severus, please will you babysit him?  I left him with Avery for two weeks and I'm lucky he's still walking.”

“Very well, I shall ‘babysit’ for you.”

With a wicked grin, Lucius nodded and reached forward, ruffling the cringing boy’s hair, and pushing him down so that his hands rested on the ratty rug at Severus's feet.   “Be good for Severus, pet. If I hear that you’ve misbehaved, I’ll have to punish you.”

A shudder ran down the boy’s spine, visible even through the heavy jumper. Raising a knowing eyebrow to Snape, he turned around and left, closing the door firmly behind him. It was several seconds before Snape could fully comprehend what was going on and when he did, he said something that would have shocked the whole of Hogwarts, although it garnered no reaction from the boy at his feet – he cursed.

“Fuck.” Potter was captured.   He had been given the whore to watch after and he had to find somewhere to put him, somewhere he would be safe. As much as he would like to go to Hogwarts, he didn’t think his reception there would be well received, no matter who he brought with him. He also had to find some way to get into Malfoy Manor and save Potter, yet again. “Bloody _fuck_.”

Of course, there was also Draco… oh, yes, Draco was locked in the closet. He flicked his wand behind him, releasing the silencing charm and unlocking the door.

Draco felt the wards lift and threw open the door, fully intending to tell Snape exactly what he thought of the state of that closet - it had not only been dusty, but it had smelled funny and there been moth eaten coats and Draco was fairly sure that something had started to crawl up his leg at one point. His rant, however, was stopped before it even started by the sight of Harry on his hands and knees in front of Snape. Not that there was anything sexual about it, Harry’s back was achingly straight, his head was tipped down and… wait a minute.

Draco stepped closer and Harry lifted his head, looking at Draco with only mild interest. Problem was, that it wasn’t Harry. The boy looked a lot like Harry, but the nose wasn’t quite right, the hair was too long, and he was far too skinny and pale. Actually, the longer Draco looked, the less like Harry this boy appeared, but it was eerie all the same.

“Snape, what’s going on?”

The boy’s head snapped gaze snapped back to the ground, but not before Draco noticed a flush of pink across his cheeks and that blank stare turning panicked for a moment. “Snape, who is this?”

Who indeed. “Boy.”

At the sound of Snape’s voice the boy’s head quickly lifted. Though he said nothing, Severus could hear the echo of the boy’s hoarse, whispered voice in his ears. _Yes, Master Severus.   How can I please you, Master Severus? Hit me harder, Master Severus._

That wouldn’t do. “What is your given name?”

The child’s face froze, as it often did when the boy thought there was some new horror or torture waiting for him. He still didn’t speak.

“Your name, boy. What did your parents call you?”

The blank face quickly became one of distress and Draco stepped between them, looking at Snape accusingly. “You’re upsetting him.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. Interesting, he hadn’t thought Draco’s feelings for Potter had extended to the point that he would protect even someone who simply resembled the Gryffindor-Who-Lived-to-Annoy-Snape. “Draco, unless he gives me a name, I shall have to continue to refer to him as Boy.”

Draco crossed his arms over his chest for a moment before turning around and kneeling in front of the boy, who crawled back a foot, afraid to have someone he didn’t know so close to him. Draco started to lift his hand, but thought better of it and dropped it back to the floor.   “What’s your name?”

The boy looked at Draco, his face returning to its previous, impassiveness. Well, the son did look a great deal like the father.

“I’m Draco Malfoy.” As if introduction was the problem.

At the name Malfoy, the boy’s eyes widened in horror and he dropped his head. Despite his silence, the shallow, rapid heaving of his back betrayed his panic. Severus scowled, “Draco, show him your arm.”

Draco looked back at Severus, clearly annoyed. “I don’t see how that would help any…”

“Do as I say for once and show the boy the underside of your arm.”

With a dramatic sigh, Draco did as instructed and shoved his shirt up, exposing the smooth, unmarked flesh of his forearm. Death Eaters had not been the only ones to use the boy, but they had made up the vast majority and certainly never anyone as young as Draco. The moment the boy saw Draco’s arm, his body relaxed minutely. He shifted, just slightly, so that he was leaning nearer to Draco than Severus and his glances at the unfamiliar face were no longer frightened, but apprehensive.

Draco turned on his former Professor, standing to his full height and wishing it were just a little taller. It would be much more intimidating if he didn’t have to tilt his head up to look him in the eyes. “What’s going on? Who is he and why is he here? What was my father doing here and why wouldn’t you let him see me? He wouldn’t have turned me in. I’m his son and he…”

“You may be his son, but the Dark Lord is his Master. If he thought that it would earn him favor, he would have wrapped a bow around you and hand delivered you to Lord Voldemort’s feet long before now.   Thank the gods the Dark Lord doesn’t prefer his consorts young and male.”

Snape felt some satisfaction as Draco’s face paled, but not nearly as much as he should have. He still had to rescue bloody Potter. “Take him up to your room and ward the door. If you hear anything suspicious, get on your broom and fly.”

Draco blanched further, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to form a proper thought. “Bu… wha… to where?”

“Anywhere, just not here.”

He turned around to leave, but was stopped by Draco’s hand on his arm. The boy’s silver eyes were narrowed.   “This is about Harry, isn’t it?”

Snape glared down the few inches separating them, but there really was no reason to lie, the sooner he left, the better. “Yes.”

Draco nodded and let go of Snape, stepped back towards the cowering boy all but forgotten on the floor. “You’ll save him.” It wasn’t a question, so Snape did not answer. He strode through his door and closed it behind him, stopping long enough to set a few well-placed wards before apparating.

 

______________

 

 

Harry didn’t know how long he’d been in the small, six by six room. There wasn’t a window and he hadn’t been served any meals. His stomach growled unhappily at the reminder and he chewed the inside of his mouth, pressing himself further into the corner.

There weren’t any furnishings in the room, just four stone walls and a cold floor that smelled surprisingly clean. He’d thought that was weird at first. Dungeons were supposed to smell bad, like urine or filth, but this one had a neutral, crisp kind of smell. Of course, it hadn’t taken very long for Harry to figure out why.

Lucius could use magic to summon a mattress, he could summon bindings and anything else he needed to torture Harry, but apparently he refused to get even half naked in a room that was less than sterile. For that alone, Harry almost wished he had enough liquid left in his system to urinate.

Harry tried to curl further into himself as footsteps sounded down the hallway. At least Lucius hadn’t taken his clothes away. They were little more than rags – the clasp on his robes was broken and his trousers and shirt were missing several buttons – but they were at least something, even if they were only there because Lucius liked to take them off him.

The door opened and Harry wished there was enough room to shy away from the towering figure in the doorway. The other times they’d met, Harry had known that Lucius was bigger than he was, but while the older man had been threatening before, Harry had always been armed with his wand and surrounded by adults. Alone, unarmed and in a small dungeon, he’d found that there was more to be afraid of than he’d ever realized before. It had only taken one night alone with the man to make him understand why Draco had always been so terrified of his father.

With a deep breath, Harry gritted his teeth and forced himself to unwind, standing on unsteady legs. He would not cower before this man, he wouldn’t. It didn’t matter how much pain Lucius Malfoy offered him, he was not going to let his fear show.

A wand was held up and Harry nearly flinched, just managing the reign in the instinct and scowl instead. He couldn’t, however, force himself speak. He didn’t trust himself to. Some hours ago (at least, he was assuming it was hours) he’d tried to sling insults only to have the Cruciatus Curse flung at him before he could get out the first word. When he’d come out of it, screaming and begging for it to stop, he’d vowed not to open his mouth again.

Light filled the room and Harry found himself staring at a tall, sallow skinned figure that was most definitely not Lucius Malfoy. For a moment, he couldn’t think. His jaw went slack with shock and he stared, gripping the wall behind him to stay standing.

 _Snape_?

“Well, I was fairly certain I would have to carry you out of here, but it looks as if I didn’t give you enough credit.”

At the sound of his voice, visions of Dumbledore, falling from the tower and the sickening thunk of the body hitting the ground below filled his head. He stepped forward, intending to attack the man in the doorway, consequences be damned, but his legs gave out without the support of the wall and he fell down, unable to hold back the cry of pain as his arse hit the floor.

Snape stepped forward and Harry scrambled back, cursing his treacherous throat for the whimpers of pain that escaped with every movement. No, curse Lucius for being a sick, twisted, perverted bastard who got off on raping boys on dark, dungeon floors.

“Get away from me!”

Snape stopped and looked behind him at the open door.  “I don’t have time for this.” He took another step forward and Harry’s back hit the wall. Shite.

“If you touch me, I’ll bloody kill you, I swear.”

It was an empty threat. He’d said the same thing to Lucius the second time.

With a heavy sigh, Severus raised his wand, his mouth open to perform some curse, some new kind of pain that Harry had yet to experience. Instead, he was stopped mid-spell by a voice in the doorway.

“Well, well, look who couldn’t wait to get his hands on the real thing.”

Severus cursed silently and lowered his wand, turning to face Lucius with a smug smirk on his lips. “I simply had to confirm that what you had insinuated was the truth. I could hardly imagine what kind of favor you had garnered that would give you the rights to use Harry Potter as you pleased before our Lord finished him off.”

He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Harry was trying to stand again, leaning heavily against the wall. Stupid child, according to Severus’s sources, he had been missing for going on two days and it was quite obvious that it had not been a kind two days. He should be conserving his strength.

Lucius sauntered forward, satisfaction clear in the way his gaze swept over the hunched boy. “I caught him.”

Severus raised an eyebrow in surprise, though to be honest, he’d expected as much. The official report was that Potter had been spirited away by Draco, but with the younger Malfoy safe at Snape’s home, the options had been limited. Polyjuice, Potter would have recognized, but a de-aging potion and a carefully constructed glamour would have been far less obvious. After all, the physical resemblance between Lucius and Draco was nearly as great as that of Harry and James.

Lucius stopped a foot away from Harry, who had finished standing and was shaking badly. Moving quickly, Lucius grabbed Potter by his hair, fisting the unruly black mess and violently yanking the boy to his knees in front of him, smiling wickedly at the pained sound Harry made when his knees hit the floor.

“Did you know that he’s been having a rather heated relationship with my son?” Harry scowled, his hands trying to pry Lucius' fingers out of his hair. “Of course, I was aware that they were closer than friends, but I hardly expected Harry Potter to fall in love with my son.”

Harry stilled suddenly and stared forward, unable to breathe.   Severus frowned. He’d known the boys were intimate, but he would never have gone so far as to confuse lust with love. These were seventeen year old boys, mere children. They hardly knew what love was. At least, that was what he had thought until he had seen the look on Harry’s face.

Regardless of what the truth may be, Harry fancied himself in love with Draco. Severus forced his expression into one of distain. “I’d hardly call two boys humping each other’s legs ‘love.’”

With a positively feral growl, the boy began once again to try and rip himself from Lucius, but this time the object of his intentions was not escape so much as attacking Severus.

Lucius chuckled at the display. “Now look what you’ve done, you’ve upset the whelp.”

Kneeling down, Lucius pulled Harry so that he was doubled over at the waist with his chest only inches from the ground and his head bent painfully back.   Harry kept his grip on Lucius' wrists, no longer trying to pry free, and glared at the man heatedly.

“He’s such a delight, Severus. The noises he makes… why, I could listen to them for eternity and never grow weary of it.” To prove his point, he flicked his wand and the room echoed with the sounds of Harry’s choked screams.

Severus felt a tug of protectiveness in him. Harry struggled in earnest now, spurred on by the humiliation.   He lashed out, raking his finger nails over Lucius’ arms desperately, trying to bring his feet under him, despite the uselessness of the effort.

The sounds faded, but didn’t go away - they were more whimpers than screams, punctuated by yelps caught between pain and pleasure. Lucius lowered himself further, an act that would have looked graceless had it been anyone else performing it. His mouth rested near Harry’s ear. “What do you think, Harry? Do you think your dear professor enjoys these sounds as much as I do? Do you think he’ll enjoy watching while I take you?”

Harry gave a wordless cry and dug his nails in deeper. Lucius used his free hand to trail his wand over Harry’s shoulder and up his neck, resting it against the boy’s dirty hands. A single word, followed by a surprised hiss of breath and Harry moved his hands away, dropping them to the floor.

“Perhaps you’d rather have him take you, then? You’re in an… amenable position.” Lucius looked up, all cat like smiles and feline grace as he had always been, his voice purring. “What do you think, Severus, dear friend? You’ve always said you wondered if the real thing would be as delicious. I assure you, it is.”

Of all the things Lucius could have said and done, it wasn’t even the worst. Perhaps it was the obscene sound of Harry around them, coupled with the boy’s desperate expression as he crouched, nearly prostrated on the ground. Whatever it was, Severus felt himself move before he even knew what he was doing.

Lucius didn’t have time to dodge the curse that was aimed at him. A flash of green and the great Lucius Malfoy was dead, killed by possibly the only person he had ever trusted. As selective as he was, Lucius had trusted no one, not his wife and certainly not his son, but he had always reserved a place of honor for his old friend. They had known each other since high school and surely there could be no secrets between them by now.

Harry had fallen on his side the moment Lucius' grip had relaxed. Realizing he was free, he sat up and looked from Lucius’ dead body to Severus, standing over them both, his eyes blazing with anger at Harry didn’t even know what. His mind raced. He needed a weapon. His gaze fell on Lucius' wand, laying only a few feet from him.

Unfortunately, as fast as his mind may have been working, his body was too sore to keep up. As he dove forward, his hand brushed against the wand, only to have it yanked away from him, summoned by Severus. He turned around and faced the other man.

Lucius had caught him by surprise. He had looked like Draco, but there had been strength and training behind the small frame that had never been there before and that had given Lucius an advantage that Harry couldn’t hope to match. Afterwards, it had been a matter of survival. However, faced with Snape, Harry would rather die than let the man touch him.

Snape’s wand aimed at him and Harry paled. Of course, he’d rather not die all things considered. He dodged out of the way as a jet of blue light flew at him and stumbled to his feet, clutching the door jam as nausea rolled over him. He had to run. He’d suffered worse than this and still been able to fight back. Voldemort had used the Cruciatus on him several times that night at the graveyard and he’d gotten away.

“Potter, stand still.”

Harry edged further through the doorway. “Like hell.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Is that what you told Dumbledore?”

Snape’s face went from mildly annoyed to icy cold. “Do not speak about things you know nothing of.”

His pain was pushed into the background by his anger. “I was standing right there, you bloody bastard, I know what happened!”

“You know nothing.”

Harry felt his lip trembling and he bit his tongue sharply.   He would not cry in front of Snape. He wouldn’t. “How could you do it?! He trusted you.   No one else may have, but he always did!   He trusted you!”

Snape’s eyes closed and Harry saw the pain there.

“Don’t just stand there, tell me why?!”

The worst part was - Harry knew why. He’d known the moment Snape leveled his wand at Lucius. He’d played the night over in his mind a dozen times and it came down to two very simple facts for him.

One, Dumbledore had begged. Dumbledore was not the kind of man to beg. He had faced down Voldemort in the Ministry without flinching. He’d told Harry that death was but the next great adventure.   If there was one thing that Dumbledore would not beg for, it was his own life.

Two, Dumbledore trusted Snape. He still wasn’t sure why, but he did know that Dumbledore did not bestow his trust lightly and he had never been so utterly wrong before. Which led to the inevitable realization that maybe he hadn’t been wrong either.

In the end, though, Harry hadn’t wanted to believe it, because he didn’t want to think that Dumbledore would abandon him like that, with no warning. When Snape killed Lucius… well, that just synched it, didn’t it? Snape was still protecting him like he’d always been and Dumbledore had been right to trust him, but that meant that Dumbledore had abandoned him and that Harry couldn’t take.

_“If something should happen to me, I ask that you return to your aunt and uncle until you come of age.”_

No amount of biting his tongue was going to keep the tears back anymore. They slid down his cheeks and Harry slid to the floor on his knees and bent double, pressing his face into his palms, feeling more lost than he had even when Sirius had left him.

Severus watched the boy cry. It would have been easier to take if it had been accompanied by heart wrenching sobs, but it was silent and the shuddering of Harry’s pack said more about the grief and pain he was suffering than words could have hoped to.

He needed to get the boy out of there, because the longer they stayed, the more risk there was of detection. Certainly Voldemort would know by now that something had happened to Lucius and it was only a matter of time before he sent someone. He knew all that, but it felt wrong interrupting such a private moment.

“Potter, we have to leave.”

“I know.” The answer was mumbled and it shook with the effort it had taken to get it out.

Severus stepped forward and stooped down, taking the boy’s arms just below the shoulders and righting him and helping him stand. It would have been easier with the boy unconscious, but Severus doubted Harry would react well to having Severus’s wand pointed at him again.

As they made their way down the hall, Snape guiding Harry through the twists and turns of the mazelike dungeon, they passed several house elves, all staring at them with a mix of awe and disbelief. After the fifth one, Harry mumbled something under his breath and Snape stopped.   “What?”

Harry looked up, a ghost of a smile on his swollen lips. “They’re all free now. Hermione will be pleased.”

Snape harrumphed noncommittally as they finally made it into the lounge and drew his wand the apparrate them. “Hold tight.” To his surprise, Harry did.

 

______________

 

“You should eat something.”

The boy shook his head quickly and continued staring at Draco. It was very disconcerting. Snape had left an hour ago and the boy, whatever his name was, was still huddled in the corner of Draco’s little room, his arms wrapped around his knees, staring intently, almost as if he expected Draco to grow a second head, or attack him at any moment.

Pulling his wand out from under his pillow, and flicked it at the boy’s direction. He didn’t miss the violent shudder that went through the boy, but he ignored it, going back to staring at the deplorably low ceiling of his room while the little plate of biscuits appeared in front of the boy, who made no move to touch it.

“Think we could talk?”  Draco looked out of the corner of his eye and saw that the boy was now staring at the plate, a very odd expression of restraint tightening his features.   “Go on, eat it. You’re practically skin and bones. The house elves would have a fit.”

At the mention of house elves, the boy looked at him sharply and his face hardened, but he did reach forward and take a biscuit, carefully biting into it and chewing slowly. He swallowed thickly as Draco turned fully to watch him, hoping that his eating was a sign that he was ready to converse.

Instead, of eating however, he placed the biscuit back on the plate and stared at it, as if waiting for something to happen. What could he possibly…? Suddenly, Draco remembered second year when Vincent and Greg had eaten cupcakes that had been floating in midair and ended up knocked out for several hours. Afterwards, they were very wary of cupcakes; of course, what they should have been wary of was food randomly floating to them, but this was Vincent and Greg.

“It’s just biscuits, there’s nothing in it.”  The boy looked at him, his eyes hard, and his breathing determinedly even. Draco got off the bed and took a biscuit from the plate, biting into it before setting it back down.  “See, nothing to worry about.” He hadn’t even finished speaking when the boy grabbed it from the plate and shoved it fully into his mouth.

As Draco watched him, he decided that he had to find something to call him, because ‘the boy’ was getting annoying, even in his own head.   “Do you really not remember your name?”

The boy stopped chewing for a minute and looked at Draco, measuring him with his eyes. Finally, he swallowed the biscuit and looked at the plate silently.

“I have to call you something.”

The boy shook his head and went back to staring at the wall.   After a moment, Draco reached forward and took another biscuit, taking a small bite from it before setting it on the plate. As before, the boy immediately grabbed it, eating the whole thing as if he expected it to be taken away at any moment.

With a sigh, Draco took each biscuit, biting into them all and dropping them onto the plate before sitting back on the bed, watching. “Alright, I’ll make something up then. Waldorf.”

The boy screwed up his face and Draco nodded. “Okay, how about Aidan.”

The expression didn’t change and Draco frowned. Several minutes later, he stumbled across Jordan. He didn’t think it was the boy’s name, but it got a raised eyebrow and Draco thought that was better than a pursed mouth or a scrunched nose.

“Alright, then, Jordan it is.” He watched Jordan eating the biscuits. After the first few, he’d slowed down, taking small bites and watching Draco as intently as Draco was watching him.

“So…” but Draco couldn’t think of anything to say beyond that. What did you say to someone who didn’t talk? “I wish Harry were here.”

“Harry Potter?”

Draco didn’t realize the boy had spoken at first. Although, ‘spoken’ was too strong of a word for it, it had been more of a breathy whisper than anything else and it had been quickly followed by a flinch. The biscuit in the boy’s hand snapped as he tightened his grip, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Draco looked at him in surprise, “You know Harry?”

Jordan shook his head, pulling himself into a tighter ball than even before.

“But you said Potter, that’s his last name.”

Jordan only shook his head again and Draco sagged on the bed, deciding that perhaps it was better to drop it, because the boy was beginning to get a panicked look in his eyes.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop asking questions.”

He really did wish Harry were there, though, because Harry would know what to do. Harry had always been so good with people. He’d always been able to put even the most nervous first year at ease after a few minutes. Of course, there were those times that he didn’t get those minutes, or where he simply didn’t want them, because he was too tired of the star struck eyes staring at him; but given the chance, he had no doubt that Harry could have made the boy talk, if only to give his real name.

Draco put his chin on his folded arms, trying to decide what to do next. “I wonder what’s taking Snape so long.”

Snape had gone to rescue Harry from Draco's father, he’d gathered that much, but what made him think his father had Harry? He watched Jordan reach out and pick a crumb off the plate. He flicked his wand, filling the plate again and ignored the boy’s flinch.

What had happened to him that was so bad he refused to speak, that he flinched at every movement of a wand, that he was afraid to eat?

Something clicked. His father had shown up, leaving this boy behind, this boy that looked remarkably like Harry and then Snape had left, saying he had to save Harry from his father. Whatever had been done to this boy, was that what was being done to his Harry? He watched Jordan, sitting on the floor, tentatively chewing only the food that Draco had already tasted.

“Jordan.” The boy didn’t look at him and Draco frowned. “Hey!”

Jordan looked up, eyes wide.

“My father hurt you, didn’t he?”

Jordan looked down and put the biscuit he’d been eating back on the plate. It wasn’t a nod, but it was enough of an answer. Draco sat up and looked at his knees. He knew what his father was. He’d been raised by Death Eaters, expected to be one himself.  He should have realized it sooner, but all of those stories about torture and rape and bringing the inferior down to their appropriate level had felt like just that, stories. Surely with the war over, those things had been forgotten and put away. Only, here was the proof that they hadn’t been.

“Do you like ice cream?”

Jordan stared at him blankly, a look that Draco was realizing meant distrust.

“There’s only chocolate and vanilla, but if you want some…”

He still didn’t say anything and Draco closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them. He mumbled softly, “What would Harry do?”

Jordan’s eyes lit up and he sat forward a little, as if trying to hear what Draco was saying. Draco found himself smiling. That was it. Jordan was interested in Harry.

“Do you want me to tell you about Harry?”

After several seconds, Jordan nodded. It was the closest Draco had gotten to an answer to anything and he was suddenly very unsure were to start. “Well, Harry’s… Harry.”

Jordan frowned, his head tilted to the side and Draco chuckled.   “He likes books, but not school books or anything, he likes silly muggle books, like… The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe.”

The boy suddenly smiled, perking up and something else clicked into place for Draco. A wizarding child would have been hard to conceal for so long. In pain and confusion, he might use wild magic. Not to mention the safety spells and location charms that parents put on their children.

“You’re a muggle aren’t you?” When Jordan only blinked, Draco clarified, “Can you do magic?”

He shook his head and Draco’s stomach dropped. His father had kidnapped a muggle boy to torture and rape?   It didn’t make any sense. Hadn’t Lucius Malfoy told him that muggles weren’t worth the mud wiped from the bottom of his shoe?

_“Draco, show him your arm.”_

_Jordan_ _leaning closer to him when he’d seen the clear underside of Draco’s forearm._

No, not just his father, Death Eaters. Death Eaters had taken him and tortured him, his father had just been part of it. That still left 'why', though.

He looked at Jordan again, wishing he could pick the answers out of the boy’s head. Only, he didn’t have to, because the answers were there in those bottomless green eyes and that black hair that was several inches too long. “Harry. Oh, god, Harry.”

Jordan looked like Harry. He had a vague memory of his father talking to Severus when he and Harry were twelve, saying something about one of the houses he went to having something unusual and he’d _looked_ at Harry.   Not a casual, passing glance, but a hard, appraising stare.

Draco swallowed down bile and took several deep, steadying breaths. He couldn’t think about that. There wasn’t anything he could do to help Harry now. The only thing he could do was sit and wait for Severus to return with Harry, hopefully whole, if not unhurt. Please, at least alive.

The boy’s curious face was tilted at him. Oh, that’s right, he’d been about to tell him about Harry. It was as good a thing to do to pass the time as any.

“Harry likes to play Quidditch, he’s the seeker, youngest Hogwarts has had in a century and he’s good. In fact, he’s better than I am, but I’ll never admit that to him.”

Jordan just looked confused and after a moment, Draco realized that he probably didn’t even know what Quidditch was. “Quidditch is a wazarding game, it’s played on brooms in the air.”

The boy eyes went wide and Draco couldn’t help but smile.   As he explained the sport and in specific, Harry’s roll in it, a ghost of a smile graced Jordan’s face. Draco let himself get lost in talking and in the boy’s expressions of interest and awe, because it was the only thing he could do take his mind off what might be happening in his father’s dungeon.

 

 

__________________

 

 

When Draco heard the door slam open downstairs, he considered running. Severus had said to get on his broom and fly as far and fast as he could if he heard anything suspicious.   Surely someone slamming open the door could be considered suspicious, but he hesitated, because it slammed shut just as noisily.  Anyone trying to sneak up on him probably wouldn’t make that much noise, and anyone breaking in wouldn't have bothered closing the door.

Jordan had fallen asleep on the floor at some point, his arms tucked under his head. Draco considered waking him, it would make things easier if it turned out to be intruders, but then Jordan had tossed and mumbled in nightmares for nearly an hour before settling and Draco couldn’t bring himself to disturb the sleep.

Opening the door to his room, Draco held his breath and listened for any sounds coming from the house. There was the thumping sound of a stack of books falling over, followed by a loud exclamation of, “Bloody fuck!”

That was Snape! Racing out of the room, he went down the short hallway and nearly barreled into the Professor, holding up the slouched figure of what could only be Harry, the tattered remained of his Hogwarts cloak wrapped around him.

“What are you doing out of your room?”

Harry lifted his head a little, but through the fall of dirty black hair, Draco couldn’t see his eyes. What had happened? Why was Snape holding Harry up? Was Harry all right?   Draco couldn’t make the words come out.

With an audible sigh, Snape brushed past him, grunting as he hauled Harry with him, and headed towards the master bedroom. “If you’ve nothing intelligent to say, you can make yourself useful by opening the door for me.”

Draco didn’t hesitate. He opened the door and followed the Professor into his private rooms. He only took the barest moment to reflect that he would have to reconsider his personal definition of derelict, because if his room had been horrible, this one was an absolute nightmare. Snape helped Harry onto the bed, carefully laying him on his back.

Harry’s face was tight with pain and paled. Snape looked at him for a moment before sighing. He opened his bedside table and pulled out a small vial filled with a deep purple potion. Harry’s face turned a funny shade of green and his eyes clenched tighter as Snape helped him to sit half up.

“Potter, I need you to drink this.”

Harry’s eyes flickered open, but they were glazed and dilated.   He licked his lips and didn’t resist as Snape tipped it into his mouth. Almost immediately, Harry’s collapsed into unconsciousness and Snape sighed grateful, resting the boy back onto the bed and beginning to remove his clothes.

Draco felt the room tilt a little, but managed to steady himself by gripping the edge of the dresser. Lacerations covered Harry’s chest, arms and thighs, some barely more than a scratch and others deep and bleeding freely. There were bite marks on Harry’s chest, but Draco couldn’t quite tell if they were human or not. Honestly, he didn’t think he wanted to know.

“Go into my washroom and get me a damp clothe.” When he didn’t move immediately, Snape turned on him. “He will live, Draco, now you can either be of assistance or you can leave.”

He didn’t want to leave, so he forced himself to walk across the room and through the half open door into the lavatory. It was as dirty and disgusting as the rest of the house had been and dark to boot, as there were no windows, but he couldn’t dwell on that, not with Harry bleeding in the next room. He found a cloth and cast scourgify on it before putting it under the tap and soaking it.

Racing back into the room, he gave it to Snape and watched as his former Professor slowly ran it over Harry’s skin with the kind of care that he generally reserved for delicate potions work. He dabbed over the cuts and then ran his wand over them, disinfecting and sealing them shut.   Draco stood silently at the foot of the bed.

The room fell into silence, punctuated only by the sounds of Snape working. Draco had never noticed it before, but there was a certain intensity in the way that he looked after Harry.   Even when they were younger, there was no one who could rile Snape like Harry. Well, him and Sirius Black, if Harry’s stories were to be believed. It was… unsettling.

Draco thanked his better judgment for not having sat down, or he would have jumped five feet in the air when a little gasp echoed through the room. Jordan was standing in the doorway, his arms wrapped around himself, staring at the bed. Snape gave Draco a look and he didn’t need to be told to get him out.

“Come on.” Taking the boy by the arm, he led him away from the door and closed it. It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t be there with Harry, but at this point he didn’t think there was anything he could do and maybe it would be better to have something. “Let’s go to the kitchen.”

He hoped Harry woke up soon.  
 

 

__________________

 

 

By the time Snape came back down the stairs, Draco and the little catamite were sitting on the couch, starring at the stairs intently. While Draco perked up at seeing him, however, the other boy shifted closer to Draco and tensed.

“He has several broken ribs and a good amount of internal damage. He’ll need to stay in bed for several more days before he’s well enough to be moved. You may see him now.”

Never in all his years had Severus seen Draco move that fast. He vaulted from the couch and past Severus before the Potions Master could blink, leaving the little Potter look alike sitting on the couch alone, looking up at Severus apprehensively.

For several minutes, the two stared at each other impassively.   It was the boy who moved first. He slid off the couch and sat on the floor, his head bowed. It was meant to be a respectful position, but Severus could see defiance in the stiffness. Through years of abuse, the boy had refined the art of subtle defiance.

“Sit up.”

The boy immediately moved to follow the instructions, though he did not lift his head. Severus watched him carefully. The boy did as he was told, but just. He sat straighter, lifted his head a fraction, but he did not look at Severus and the neutral set of his face didn’t waver.

“Look at me.”

With obvious reluctance, the boy lifted his eyes and looked at Severus.

“I will not be returning you to Lucius.”

After several moments, he nodded, almost dejectedly, and his hands played with the last button of the shirt he was wearing, as if contemplating taking it off. For the love of… “Neither will I require that you be my whore.”

Surprise registered on the face and the little mouth moved marginally, as if longing to say something.

“You can speak. I won’t punish you for voicing your thoughts.”

The boy shook his head and Severus stepped forward, intending to go into the kitchen to take stock of his various healing potions. With his first step, the boy moved, scrambling over the back of the sofa and watching Severus with a hard glare as the man walked past him.

“I won’t hurt you.”

Surprisingly, the boy smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile, or a comfortable smile; it was a cynical sort of smile that spoke volumes. He didn’t believe Severus, but then he didn’t have any reason to. Giving a tired sigh, Severus went into the kitchen and began his work, trying to ignore the proof of his sin, huddled protectively behind the furniture in the other room.

 

_____________________

 

Draco looked down at Harry. His brain had gone numb the moment he’d walked into the room and the only thing he had managed to really process were the words ‘oh, god.’ If he’d thought Harry would look better once he had been cleaned and treated, he was mistaken, because if anything, Harry’s clean skin made the cuts and bruises stand out even more.

Hesitantly, Draco leaned forward, put his chin on the pillow next to Harry’s head and watched his closed eyes. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see by doing this, but it did put him closer to Harry without having to touch him and he was desperately afraid to touch him just then.

“Your breath stinks.” The voice was cracked and hoarse and Draco pulled back sharply to find himself staring at Harry’s very open eyes. “You should have brushed your teeth before blowing up my nose.”

Draco just managed to suppress a grin. “This coming from the boy who used to have burping contests at Snape’s dinner table.”

Harry’s lips turned up, “I never - you refused to go along with anything so ‘plebeian’ and I never hung around with anyone else, especially at Snape’s dinner table. Speaking of which, I still maintain you had no idea what plebeian meant.”

Draco huffed and turned his head a little away, making sure he could still see Harry out of the corner of his eye. “I did too.” There was a long pause and Draco finally dropped his pose, turning back around with his shoulders slumped. “How are you doing?”

Harry shrugged as best he could. “I’m fine. Sore and it hurts like fire when I breathe, but otherwise alright.”

Draco leaned over and put his chin back on the bed. Harry didn’t comment on his breath this time. “What happened? I mean, I know it was my father, but…”

“He came to the Dursley’s pretending to be you. He said he’d been tortured and managed to escape… well, himself, I suppose. When we stepped out of the wards to go to Ron’s, he used a portkey.”

“Oh.” Draco looked down at the bed sheets, but didn’t move away. It was comforting being able to smell Harry, even if he thought he could smell a bit of sickeningly familiar cologne lingering on him as well. “Snape says my father’s dead.”

Harry looked at him and the depth of the confusion there frightened Draco. “He killed him.   He came in and your father apologized for keeping him waiting and I thought… but when he offered me to Snape, Snape cursed him, just like… He didn’t even have time to draw his wand.”

Draco nodded and moved one of his hands along the edge of the raised quilt until he felt Harry’s hand under it. “I’m glad he’s dead.”

Harry sighed, but didn’t look away. “Draco, tell me something only you would know.”

The request was simple enough and it shouldn’t have stung - if someone had impersonated Draco, then it was only normal for Harry to be suspicious.   “The first time we met, I kicked you in the shins and then offered you a hand up, which you rudely refused.”

“Tell me something else.”

Draco dug into his memories, trying to come up with something.   “You broke into the infirmary to steal healing salve for me, because my bum hurt too much to ride a broom and then I punched you because I was being a git.”

Harry narrowed his eyes and Draco almost took it to mean he’d said something wrong, except that there was just the slightest hint of humor there.   “Imposter. What have you done with Draco?”

With an exaggerated sigh, Draco rolled his eyes, “Fine. You used to have nightmares about your Uncle and I’d wake you up and then pretend to be asleep, which you never believed, anyway.”

The hand under his turned and he felt the fingers curl up.   “Thanks. Could you stay here while I sleep? I don’t really feel like being alone.”

Draco nodded and watched Harry’s eyes close. It was only minutes before the dark haired boy was breathing deeply and his bruised face was relaxed in sleep. He’d meant what he’d said about being glad his father was dead. His entire life he had known the man was cruel, but this…

Squeezing Harry’s limp hand in his, Draco closed his eyes as well.

 

____________________

 

 

“You should eat more than that. My father only had you for what, six hours, if that? One can hardly affect this kind of weight loss in six hours.”

Harry frowned, “My aunt and uncle.”

“Those barbaric muggles? Did they feed you at all?! I can see your ribs.   Eat the rest of this.” Draco shoved a bowl of soup under Harry’s nose and Harry fought the nausea at the heavy smell of tomatoes.

“No thanks.”

“I’ll not let you starve yourself.” Draco waited patiently until Harry finally took the bowl. “Thank you. Now, as I was saying, this house is in such decay that I hardly feel safe even using the privy.   The grout, Harry, and I didn’t even know it was called that until Snape told me, is black. Black, Harry - as in so disgustingly misused that it’s rotting.”

Draco shuddered and Harry felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

“Not to mention the state of the bath. I’d rather spend the rest of my life using scowering charms on myself than sit in that gray _thing_ he calls a tub. I don’t even think it was originally gray, because if it was, someone did the decor in that room a serious injustice. Of course, scowering charms are murder on your skin, so I’ve been standing on my toes and taking only showers.”

Harry sipped the soup and it settled pleasantly enough in his stomach, so he took another spoonful while Draco continued to rant about the condition of the bathroom. He’d been there for two days now and Draco had spent every day sitting next to his bed, talking incessantly. For the most part, it was about nonsense, occasionally he broached more serious topics, but either way, Harry couldn’t complain. Company was better than stifling silence. At least when Draco talked it was harder to think.

A knock on the door interrupted Draco in the middle of telling Harry about the horrors of the floor matt, which apparently was so stiff it hurt Draco’s delicate feet. Harry saw Snape come in and his stomach twisted. He still hadn’t decided how he felt about the man. There were so many conflicting images in his head that he couldn’t decide which one was real.  There was the Snape that made his life a living hell, the one that delighted in making fun of him, that grounded him continually, that had slapped him across the face when he was nine and locked him in a storage closet overnight when he was ten. Only there was another Snape, one that Harry was just now beginning to understand. This one tried to protect Harry nearly every year, starting with threatening Quirell right up to killing Lucius Malfoy.

Harry saw someone peaking around the doorway out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t have to look to know it was the mysterious boy that was apparently running around Snape’s home. He’d ask Draco about him the first time he saw the head of black hair appear and disappear too quickly for him to get a good luck. Draco had only shifted uncomfortably, saying, “That’s Jordan,” before moving onto a new topic.

With a familiar glare, Snape turned to the door. “Come in.”

For a moment nothing happened, then Harry saw the person reappear, just his head, full of silky black hair and bright green eyes set into a too-pale face. It didn’t move away this time, but stared at Harry with open curiosity that unnerved him. It wasn’t the kind of hero-worshipping curiosity that he’d gotten at Hogwarts, it was like… it reminded him of the first time he’d met his Aunt Marge. He’d been hearing about for a while and he wasn’t sure what he thought of her, so he’d hidden from her until his uncle had grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and made him come out into the open.

Snape went to the door and glared down at the child, who ignored him entirely in favor of watching Harry.

“Boy!”

Jordan looked up, his eyes wide. Why wasn’t he talking?

“If you are going to insist on helping, then you’ll have to enter the room.”

Draco perked up in his chair. “He insisted on helping?”

“He took the vials from the kitchen counter and refused to give them back. I took that to mean that he wanted to carry them for me. Am I wrong?” This last comment was directed at the boy, who shook his head, stepping forward.

Harry had assumed he was leaning over, because he couldn’t be more than a year younger than Draco and him and his head only reached to just below Snape’s chest, but apparently that was his true height. Seeing the full measure of him for the first time made Harry realized there was something about him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.  He was a scrawny boy, too thin and short for his age. He swayed deliberately, as if alternating between staying close to Snape’s side and wanting to run away. His hair was black and unkempt and his eyes were large and bright green.

Draco raced forward, ignoring the boy who winced back a step before Draco caught him arm and pulled him forward to the side of the bed. “Jordan, this is Harry. Harry, Jordan.”

Jordan wrapped an arm around himself and stared intently at Harry, a pained expression on his face, “It’s Josh.”

Draco started and looked at the boy. He hadn’t made a single sound this entire time, not for days, not even when he’d stubbed his toe on a book, or tripped in the hall.

“He doesn’t look anything like me.” The vials of potion slipped from the boy’s finger, thumping harmlessly against the carpet, and Draco saw tears brimming in his eyes. “It’s not fair. I went through years of… and he doesn’t even look like me!”

His voice was raising and Draco saw that Harry’s face was drained almost entirely of color. “That’s what he meant when he said substitute. You’re…”

Snape had been caught off guard by Josh’s outburst. He had expected a great many reactions, however, he wasn’t quite as good at reading people as Dumbledore had been and so all of his hypothesis were thrown aside. Draco reached over to put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, but he jerked away from it violently, nearly falling in his effort to get away.

“Don’t touch me!”

Before Snape could say anything, the boy rushed past him, keeping just enough distance between them so they didn’t touch, and ran into Draco’s room, slamming the door shut. A closed door was precious little privacy, but when Draco moved to follow, Snape held him back. “I’ll see to him in a moment. Go downstairs.”

Draco looked ready to put up a fuss, but in the end, he left, giving a very pale Harry one last look before shutting the door behind him.

 

_____________________

 

 

Harry said nothing as Snape looked him over, pealing back the bandages to check the healing lacerations and casting spells that would assess the damage he couldn’t see. Just because he wasn’t speaking, though, didn’t mean his mind wasn’t racing with questions. Was he really who Harry thought he was? Did it really mean what Harry thought it meant? He’d said years, but how many?

Snape grunted noncommittally at something his magically induced report had told him. “It appears that you will live.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched upward before he could stop it. “Too bad, huh?”

“Indeed. In another day’s time, we can begin making arrangements to return you to the Weasley’s.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t really considered that actually. Being tucked away in Snape’s home, even in his room, had been… well, nice. It smelled like dust, herbs, and a faint musky odor that was probably Snape and didn’t bother Harry as much as it should have. At least it was familiar. At least it wasn’t the sickly sweet smell of Lucius’ cologne, or Dumbledore’s candied scent, or the wet-dog smell that sometimes clung to Sirius even after he’d returned to his human form.

Snape was a bastard, yes, but he was one of the only people that Harry had left and one of only two that were already in enough danger whether Harry was around or not. Draco was the other one, but he hoped that maybe Voldemort wouldn’t fixate as much on a deserter as he would a traitor and his prophesized downfall.

“Is he looking for Draco?”

Snape looked up from the paper, “Lucius is dead.”

“I was there.  You know who I mean.”

Snape raised an eyebrow, “At the last meeting, he was mad at Draco, but not murderously so. If the boy stays well undercover, then he has little to fear.   Even if he were caught, I doubt it would be little more than torture and threats.  As long as he doesn't open his mouth, anyway.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. If he had to return to the rest of the world, at least he’d know that Draco was safe. “You’ll keep him here with you, right?”

A derisive chuckle escaped Snape before he could stop it.   “Neither of us will be going anywhere until the end of this blasted war.”

“What?”

“Come now, surely your memory isn’t all that addled. House elves saw me carrying you out of the dungeons and Lucius dead. The fact that I have not felt a summons is a clear enough indication.”

Harry studied the bed quilt rather than look up. “Oh.”

Snape raised a dark eyebrow, “Do cheer up, Potter. While I’m sure the idea of my not being tortured nightly by that insane megalomaniac isn’t the most exciting news you’ve had all day, I, personally, do not see it as such a great loss.   Although, it does mean you will have to keep yourself from getting into trouble. If you’re caught again, I will not be there to rescue you.”

“Liar.” Harry didn’t even realize he’d said it out loud, not until Snape had given him something that might have been called a smile.

It looked strange on Snape, mostly because Harry had never seen him smile before. Smirked, yes, sneered, definitely, but never anything even remotely open enough to be considered a smile.   It didn’t look bad, though.

 

______________

 

“Lucius is dead.”

Draco stood in the hallway, with his ear pressed against the door.   He’d decided upon closing the door that if they weren’t going to tell him what they were talking about, he’d just have to find out on his own.

“I was there.  You know who I mean.”

“At the last meeting, he was mad at Draco, but not murderously so. If the boy stays well undercover, then he has little to fear.   Even if he were caught, I doubt it would be little more than torture and threats.  As long as he doesn't open his mouth, anyway.”

He frowned, torn between offense and relief. Still, Voldemot not being after him was good news.  He’d never of asked himself, because he didn’t want Snape thinking he was a coward, but if he were truly honest with himself, he _was_ a coward and it was some comfort to know that if he was caught it wouldn't be an instant Avada Kedavra.  Not that torture was a good thing by any means, but it beat death hands down.

“You’ll keep him here with you, right?”

With a scowl, Draco barely refrained from opening the door and setting Harry straight. There was no way that he was going to stay here when Harry left! He shouldn’t worry, though, because Snape would never go for it; he was as desperate to get Draco out as Draco was to leave.

“Neither of us will be going anywhere until the end of this blasted war.”

_What?!_

“What?”

“Come now, surely your memory isn’t all that addled. House elves saw me carrying you out the dungeons and Lucius was dead. The fact that I have not felt a summons is a clear enough indication.”

“Oh.”

Snape was stuck now, trapped in his own home. The safest wards were those that not only kept others out, but kept yourself in. Snape was not going anywhere and he didn’t intend on sending Draco with Harry. Draco wanted to pout, but something nagged at the back of his mind, something he should be thinking about.

“Do cheer up, Potter. While I’m sure the idea of my not being tortured nightly by that insane megalomaniac isn’t the most exciting news you’ve had all day, I, personally, do not see as such a great loss. Although, it does mean you will have to keep yourself from getting into trouble. If you’re caught again, I will not be there to rescue you.”

“Liar.”

Snape said nothing to the accusation, but Draco felt the weight of that statement. Snape couldn’t save Harry anymore. He’d been on the inside, he’d known what the Death Eaters were going to do before they did it, but now he was no more useful than any other bystander.

Draco moved away from the door and leaned against the wall, his shoulders slumped. Not that he was naive enough to think that Snape had been the only spy, but certainly he had been the most reliable and he had been the only one that Draco had trusted.

A crash sounded against the closed door of his room, interrupting him from his thoughts. He cursed as something else shattered against a wall and stormed over, opening the door and ducking just in time avoid being hit by a glass.

“Shite! What the bloody hell?!”

Josh was standing in the middle of the room, his eyes puffy and red, tears streaming down his cheeks and his face twisted in anger.

He dodged as the little dragon statuette that Harry had given him went flying past his head. Deciding to put a stop to the temper tantrum, he grabbed at Josh, only to have the boy twist away from.

“Don’t touch me!”

Draco wrapped his arms around the flailing boy from behind and pinned his wrists to his sides, dropping to the floor when Josh kicked his shins.

“Let me go!”

Draco tightened his grip to ride out the writhing struggles.   It didn’t take very long, less than a minute, before the boy went limp on him, his head hanging, his fists clenched, but not tightly. Draco let him go instinctively, but Josh didn’t move away. He also didn’t speak or turn to look at Draco.

“Jor... Josh?”

“What is going on?” Snape was standing in the doorway, Harry behind him and standing on his own, though just barely if his pallor was anything to go by. “Draco!”

Snape drew his attention again and he realized he hadn’t answered the question. “I… he started throwing things at me, I was trying to get him to stop.”

Harry pushed past Snape and stepped into the room, kneeling down in front of Josh, who was sitting so perfectly still it was frightening.

Draco fidgeted. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.” Although, he might have. Maybe he’d held him too tightly, but bloody hell, he’d gone hysterical, it was hardly Draco’s fault that…

“You didn’t.” He looked at Harry, who was sitting on the floor, still staring at Josh, though Josh hadn’t returned the favor. “Give me a few minutes alone with him?”

Snape moved to leave, but returned a moment later to take Draco’s arm and force his compliance. It wasn’t that Draco wanted to listen in – okay, he did, but that wasn’t the only thing - he just didn’t feel safe leaving Harry alone in a room with someone who had been throwing heavy objects around only moments before.

Snape wasn’t giving him the choice, however, dragging him down the stairs and shoving him towards the couch with all the care of someone discarding dirty laundry. Sitting on the couch, Draco glared at his former professor and crossed his arms over his chest defiantly.   The problem was, he didn’t feel very defiant.

There had always been something in the back of his mind that was at ease with the danger Harry threw himself into, because there were people that would keep him safe and Snape was one of those. Who was left now? Sirius was gone, Dumbledore was dead, the werewolf was too timid to be of much help, McGonagall would be busy keeping the school afloat, Hagrid was hardly help to begin with, that left a few Aurors who had to juggle protecting Harry with orders from the Ministry, a clan of Weasley’s, one insane Mad-Eye Moody, and a mudblood.

‘Muggleborn,’ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Harry correcting him.

He dropped his arms to his side and glared at the floor, feeling ever more helpless than he had after the Tri-wizard Tournament when all he’d been able to do was sit and wait.   Only he wasn’t a child anymore. Realization hit him like a punch in the stomach and he stopped breathing. No, he wasn’t a child and there was something he could do.

 

______________

 

What Harry had said to Josh was anyone’s guess, because neither of them would talk about it. Draco imagined that it had been some heartfelt speech about he didn’t even know what, but he knew that with Harry, sometimes all it took was ‘hello’. Either way, Josh refused to leave his side.

Although he was still admittedly sore, Harry was no longer in any immediate danger and Snape was tired of sleeping on the couch in his own home. A few spell and Snape had made the two smaller bedrooms into one larger one. It had taken a little more convincing on Draco’s part to get him to put the two beds together as well and in the end he only did it because if he didn’t, Draco would and Draco would most likely botch the spell and ruin both of them. Three nights of waking up with Josh on the floor of their room and Harry convinced Snape to turn one of the plushier chairs into a bed and put it in with them, as well.

That, of course, didn’t sit well with Draco. Harry may have been too weak for sex and even too mentally damaged to want it at the moment, but years of keeping their relationship a secret meant that Draco was uncomfortable with the idea of showing affection in front of others and Josh counted as others.

“Harry!”

Josh came bolting into the kitchen, having woken up to find no one in the bedroom with him. It was like having a toddler to take care of. A rather large toddler, but a toddler nonetheless.

Harry looked over at Josh and motioned for him to join them at the kitchen table where they were enjoying breakfast. Draco eyed the sandwich of grilled cheese and eggs – well, maybe not enjoying, but it _was_ at least edible.   Wherever Snape was getting his rations needed to be reminded that cheese should not taste like flavored cardboard.

Josh sat at the table next to Harry, contentedly silent again and chanced a smile at Draco, who sneered in return, too put off by what was being passed as food to worry about manners. Harry chuckled, “Don’t mind him, Josh, he’s just not a morning person.”

Snape chose that moment to enter and even Harry raised a wary eyebrow at the visage he presented. Still in his robes from the night before, there were dark circles under his eyes and his face was drawn tight in displeasure. Draco leaned over to Harry, dropping his voice to a near whisper. “Compared to him, I’m bloody chipper.”

“I heard that!”  Draco quickly sat up and forced an innocent smile on his face, the likes of which had gotten him out of many punishments during his summers at Hogwarts.   Snape frowned, “Stop that.”

Harry chuckled, but when Draco turned to glare at him, he noticed Josh.   Draco couldn’t imagine what Snape had done to the boy, but he must have done something, because every time they were in the same room together, Josh froze. He’d put his head down, grip something - the edge of a table, the hem of his shirt – and his breath would become shallow and soft.

Harry noticed it as well and scooted his chair closer to the boy.   “Hey, have a bite.” When Josh looked dubious, Harry feigned offense. “I made it myself.”

Josh quickly bit into it and chewed. After a moment his nose scrunched up and he swallowed, looking at the offending sandwich in distaste. Draco pointed a finger at the boy triumphantly, “Ha! So, I’m not the only one that doesn’t enjoy this drivel!”

“I just don’t like eggs.” As always, the voice that spoke was very quiet and subdued, but Draco didn’t miss it. Sitting down, he crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the table.

Severus waved his wand and a plate of fruit appeared before the boy, who instantly paled, his eyes glazing over slightly. He had hoped that he could keep the boy here. Until the war was over it wouldn’t be safe to return him home and there were very few placed he could go where he would be safe. Certainly Grimauld Place was one, but he wasn’t sure how Josh would react to being there. It was generally quiet, because otherwise Sirius’ mother’s portrait would erupt into screaming fits, but there were people constantly coming and going. However, with the way he reacted to Severus’ presence, there was very little hope that he would recover here.

Sensing the tension, Harry picked up one of the melon square and popped it into his mouth, ignoring Josh, who watching him intently until he swallowed.   If Severus had tried that, the boy would have run from the room and hidden behind the sofa for the rest of the day. Not to say that he hadn’t earned the mistrust or even that it truly upset him, but it was a concern nonetheless.  What he had done - the tortures and the mind games - had all been better than what they had wanted him to do to the boy. He had chosen what he thought to be the lesser of two evils and now he was being reminded daily that it had still been evil.

Bugger his conscience; it had always been a bother anyway. Maybe he should brew something to repress it for the next few days, until he could ship the boy off to the Weasley’s with Potter.

Draco stood suddenly and Snape didn’t miss the way he brushed Harry’s arm with his hand as he turned to leave. Really, the boy had more intimacy issues that even Severus. As Draco was leaving the room, Severus saw him glance back at Harry and it occurred to him that the only way to explain the expression on that face was forlorn.

Leaving Harry and Josh, he followed Draco into the living room. Draco was leaning against the wall, just on the other side. “I knew you would follow me.”

Severus didn’t bother to ask how. He watched Draco while the boy sighed and dusted off his shirt. The gesture reminded him of the way Harry sometimes put his hands in his pockets when he was nervous… or when he was about to do something incredibly stupid.

“What are you planning?”

“What, me?” Draco followed it with that innocent smile. Severus deepened his scowl and Draco sighed, dropping the false expression. “You can’t protect Harry anymore.”

It was a statement of fact, but Severus nodded. “That is correct. I am now as impotent as anyone else.” Somehow, he thought it might be easier if he were dead. At least then he wouldn’t have to sit in this house and dwell on his childhood while others fought the war.

Draco nodded, “Someone has to keep him safe.”

He didn’t think he liked where this was going. “They will. The boy has a slew of protectors.”

“None of them on the inside.”

He definitely did not like where it was going. “Don’t be so foolish as to assume that I am the only spy.”

Draco pushed away from the wall, holding his chin up and Snape suddenly realized that at eighteen, the boy stood only two inches short of himself.   “None as trusted as you and I’d wager none as deeply undercover. With you exposed and my father dead, Voldemort will be more cautious with who he trusts.”

As much as Severus wanted to argue with that, he couldn’t.   When he got no response, Draco nodded and headed for the front door. He stopped just at the door and half looked back. Severus could see him biting his lip, a very Harry-like gesture.

“You take care of him. He does trust you or he wouldn’t be here. Tell Harry I…” he gulped and took a deep, steadying breath, “tell him I hope I don’t see him.”

Severus wanted to say something to change Draco’s mind, but Draco was right. There was no one currently on the inside that he would dare trust with Harry’s life. Furthermore, if Harry were to be captured again, there was no one close enough to Voldemort’s inner circle to save him. Draco had the perfect trump card to slip right in. Revenge. Snape had killed Draco’s father and if the boy played it right, he would by one of Voldemort’s right hand men within a month.

In the end, Snape let him walk out.


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted in 2004.

_Several Years Later_

 

The monument was hideous. It was made of square black pieces of marble and shaped like a cube that floated two feet off the ground, each square baring the name of someone lost in the war.

Harry stood in front of it, staring at the names numbly. The dedication ceremony was going to take place in an hour.   Already, Diagon Alley was filling with Witches and Wizards, all in their best attire. After today, Harry doubted that he would be able to find a time when he could come here alone, un-harassed, to visit the memorial.

He ran his finger over the name of Remus Lupin and watched it disappear, replaced by the smiling face of the last Marauder to die. He’d died killing Pettigrew and the looked of satisfaction on his face just before the curse hit him had told Harry that he was satisfied. Harry hadn’t told Tonks that, she'd been devastated enough without adding to it.

More names, more faces, each one as painful as the last. Hagrid, and Kingsley, and an Auror named Triana that Harry had only known for two days before she was captured, tortured and killed, her mutilated body left on the steps of the Ministry. Her killers had been caught and had never made it to Azkaban.

Finally, he’d made his way around three sides and came to rest next to the name he’d been looking for. He touched it and a young face replaced the name. A smiling boy of seventeen with sharp features and bleach blond hair, the visible tops of his Hogwart’s robes pressed sharp and crisp over his shoulders.

Harry smiled. He couldn’t bring himself to cry anymore, hadn’t been able to for months, but that didn’t make it easier.

When Draco had left Severus’ house that day, Harry had been furious. It had taken both Josh and Severus to keep Harry from rushing the door and trying to take off after him.   After two days restrained to a bed, he’d given up, knowing that even if he did find him, it would be too late; Draco had most likely already taken the mark.

He hadn’t gone back to the Weasley’s, though he’d contacted Hermione and Ron and had them meet him at Godricks Hollow. His hate for Severus had been spurred by the man’s idiocy in letting Harry’s lover leave, but in the end, he couldn’t keep it up. The more of them that fell, the fewer people he had, and the less will he had to be angry with anyone. Besides, when it came down to it, he knew that it was Draco he was truly mad at.

After Remus had died, Harry had gone to Severus’ home to tell him, because Severus couldn’t have the Daily Profit delivered to his house.  Harry had been stopping by once a week to tell him what had happened and who had died. That week he started to tell him and he’d broken down.  It was like when Dumbledore had died and Harry had been so angry with him for sacrificing himself without asking Harry. It was just bloody like that, because Remus had sacrificed himself to avenge Sirius and Harry’s parents, but if he’d bothered to ask, Harry would have much preferred having him alive to having revenge. Why did everyone had to go and die because of him?

That had been the first night they kissed and Harry had been horrified with himself, if a little proud, because everyone was probably rolling around in their graves right about then. Served them right for going and getting themselves killed – if they’d been there, none of this would have been happened.

Josh had been living at Grimauld Place, another of Harry’s weekly stops. Molly Weasley had never held anything against Harry, she had always smiled when she saw him, given him big hugs and stuffed him full of food, even after Ron had died and Harry'd had to turn Percy over to the Auror’s as a Death Eater.

After the kiss with Severus, Harry had gone straight to Grimauld Place, hoping the clear his head. Instead, he had only gotten more confused.

Molly all but lived at Grimauld Place, taking care of the ghostlike Josh, who crept soundlessly around the mansion, peering in from around corners and staying in the kitchen only as long as it took to eat. At least, that was the way things had been when he’d been there the week before.

Harry had come in, closing the door quietly behind him, expecting that he would be sneaking up the stairs to Josh’s room. Instead, he’d been bowled over and found himself with an armful of exuberant boy. Molly’s mothering had drawn the boy out and now he was all talk. Even the portrait of Sirius’ mother had stopped shouting, because apparently all it had succeeded in doing was making Josh more curious about her. Now a days, she resided peacefully behind the drawn curtain.

They’d eaten lunch and Josh had asked Harry all sorts of questions about the muggle world that Molly hadn’t been able to answer. Harry promised to bring him a CD player and some music next time he came by. After they’d eaten, they’d gone up to Josh’s room, which was the same one that Harry had stayed in when he’d lived there.

Harry had done something that he hated himself for, but something that he needed to do. He’d asked Josh about his captivity and about the roll Severus had played in it. He needed to remind himself of what the man really was.

_“He never touched me really, not like the others. He’d watch them, but he never participated. Sometimes, when they were insistent enough, he’d whip me or torture me, but never anything really sexual.” Josh blushed and bowed his head, but his voice never wavered. “Not to say that I don’t think he wanted to. That’s what scared me the most, though, when were at his house.   When he watched, he’d get excited and I could see it that he wanted to, even if he never did. I think I was afraid he’d change his mind.”_

_The room was silent for several minutes and it was Josh who spoke first, looking up through a row of messy bangs. “He likes you.”_

_Harry flustered, “No… I mean, not like… that.   I’m his student is all and, besides, he’s… old.”_

_“Still, I saw the way he looked at you. He likes you. Is that why you trust him, because he likes you and he’s never done anything about it?”_

_“No, god, no, I trust him because…” Harry stopped. He wasn’t really sure why he trusted Severus, actually. “I just do.”_

_Josh shrugged then and dropped it. “Where’s your friend, the one that’s always getting bossed around by the bushy haired girl?”_

_Ron and Josh had never talked when Ron was still alive, mostly because Ron said it was creepy how much Josh looked like Harry, especially now that he was well fed. “He’s back at the Hollow with Hermione, having ‘alone time.’”_

_“Oh.” Josh thought for a moment and his eyes lit up in realization. “Oh!”_

They’d talk after that. Harry had broached the subject of Josh going home after the war, an idea that had been met with immediate and stubborn resistance. Josh insisted that he didn’t want anyone using magic on him, not even to remove his memories and he couldn’t go home the way he was.

Harry kept his hand on Draco’s square so the picture wouldn’t fade. “Hey, love.   I talked to Josh this morning. He said he wanted to use my cloak to stop by his house and make sure his parents were okay. I think he’s reconsidering going home. I hope he is.”   So many people had lost family that Harry would be happy to see Josh regain his.

He slipped back into his memories, because they were easier than the present. When he’d gone to see Severus the next week, they’d pretended nothing had happened. The same thing the next week and the week after, until one evening, when Harry was injured and so frightened by almost having lost Ron that all he’d wanted was comfort and Severus was the only person there that he trusted to take that comfort from. Snape was locked in his house, he wasn’t going anywhere and no one was going to find him.

He’d regretted it, at first. What would he tell Draco? Severus had said he should start with, “Want to have sex? You can top!” Because, he’d rightly pointed out, Draco forgave almost anything when it was accompanied by sex.

Harry had never gotten the chance to try that. The final battle had been waged two weeks later and Draco had thrown himself in front of a hex that Voldemort threw at Harry before Harry had even turned around and seen him there. He’d been so enraged at the realization that there was another traitor in his ranks that he’d reacted too late to Harry’s own attack.

When the serpent-like man was on the ground, dead for all intents and purposes, Harry had grabbed a large rock and beaten his head in, just to be sure. Some of the Order still looked at him askance when they thought he was angry, but that didn’t bother Harry.

His hand slipped from Draco’s picture and it faded out, replaced by the name. He was glad they’d chosen that picture. By the end of the war, Voldemort’s continual tortures had taken their toll on Draco. He had scars on his face and his nose had been broken at least twice. More often than not, he was seen wearing a harsh expression and harsher black robes, made to blend in with shadow. This picture of his lover, taken in their sixth year – he touched the name again, just for a moment and smiled – this was Draco.

Ron’s name was beside Draco’s and Harry chuckled, ignoring the rustle of curtains that said someone had come in. “Sorry, mate. If they’d asked, I would have had them put you with Bill.” Bill’s name was on the other side, with the other members of the Order.

“Talking to yourself again, Potter?”

Harry looked up to see his sour faced lover standing with his arms crossed, his lips curled in a sneer. “Just spending some time with them before I have to let them go.”

Severus’ scowl deepened - a sure sign that he was worried. “You let them go over a year ago.”

Harry smiled a little, somehow reassured by this. Yes, he had let them go. “No need to fret, _Sevvie_ , I’m only saying goodbye.”

Severus grabbed Harry’s arm, pulling him away from the monument and towards the exit curtains. “Call me that again and you will be sleeping on the couch.” He glanced back at the floating cube, eyeing it as if it were something dangerous.

Sensing what his lover was thinking, Harry slid his arm out of Severus’s grip and clasped hands with him. “Don’t do that.”

Severus looked at Harry, “What precisely is it that you think I am doing.”

“You’re jealous that your name isn’t on it.”

“Hm. It is a monument to war heroes.”

“It's a monument to _dead_ war heroes, Severus, besides, you spent the majority of the second war holed up in your house.”

Severus’s mouth twitched in what Harry almost thought could have maybe formed into a smile, but it was hard to tell with Severus because he didn’t smile very often. “I wasn’t there because I wanted to be.”

Harry just managed not to laugh. “Bugger that, you never leave the house anymore and there’s no death sentence on you.”

“I leave the house.”

“To go to the grocer and refill your ingredients and that's _it_.”

“Impudent brat.”

“Snarky bastard.”

“I put up with your presence in my house every day, the least you could do is afford me a little respect.”

He took one last glance back at the monument, silently thanking Draco. Not that he thought this was what Draco had in mind when he'd asked Snape to take care of him, but Draco was gone and Harry had to move on. He squeezed the hand in his.

Besides, he thought perhaps Draco would have approved. If Harry had to have another lover, Draco would have rather it be someone who wasn’t as good looking as he had been, had a much more volatile personality and was perpetually cranky. At least that way, Draco could always say he was the better of the two.

“I love you too, Severus.”

Severus didn’t response. Harry didn’t need him to.


End file.
